Past Lives
by the.hazel.eyed.girl
Summary: They hated each other - at first - a toxic combination of pride, hasty judgments, and harsh tongues. Yet love can find a way, even in the darkest of times. Love doesn't guarantee a happy ending, though. A story of Rabastan Lestrange and Eleanor Fairfax, including cameos from Pureblood society.
1. so it begins

_Past lives couldn't ever hold me down_  
 _Lost love is sweeter when it's finally found_  
 _I've got the strangest feeling_  
 _This isn't our first time around_

 _Past Lives_ by BØRNS

* * *

"One of the Black boys would be an ideal match," a female said, her shrill voice echoing up the rafters until it met the ears of a very intrigued young girl who was up far best her bedtime. Eavesdropping was not a 'lady-like' habit, her mother would say. If her parents didn't want her listening on conversations, though, they ought to tell their guests to whisper. It wasn't as if she was using magic to listen, it was the architecture of their home that made it so simple.

"Yes, I agree. Though that eldest son, sorted in _Gryffindor_ ," followed the voice of another gossiping mother.

"His mother must be devastated, though I hear the younger was rightly placed in Slytherin."

"Yes, indeed. Not set to inherit though, is he?"

"No, not unless Walburga removes her eldest from that family tree of hers. Have you ever had the _privilege_ to see it?"

"No, I've never been invited to the Black Mansion. I presume you have?"

"Yes, once. A ghastly piece of artwork; more holes in it than Walburga cares to acknowledge." The statement was followed by a slew of giggles that signaled the end of the conversation, as the women moved away from their alcove, their voices lost in the din of the party.

Rocking back onto her heels, Eleanor lifted herself up from the floor and moved backward against the wall, into the shadows. A house-elf turned the corner at that moment and looked at her, half-shrieking with surprise at seeing it's young mistress still awake. Before she could command it to remain silent, it scurried off down the servant's corridor toward the kitchen. With a sullen shake of her head, she turned back into her bedroom and shut the door with a click. Everything was dark, though she'd left the curtains open and a sliver of moonlight cast an eerie glow on her belongings.

Books were strewn across the floor, accompanied by half-torn parchment paper. Christmas break was an odd time for Eleanor, particularly this year. The home she once found such comfort in was changed. Certainly, the decorations were in abundance, carols sung out of every portrait, and even the odd bustle of mistletoe hung in doorways. Yet all this cheer was accompanied by her mother's coughing fits, the removal of all mirrors, so she couldn't see how ghastly white and hollow her face looked, and the way her father trailed behind her every move, expecting her to collapse any moment. The doctor gave her six months; Eleanor believed that was an optimistic estimate. When summer break came, she didn't expect to have a mother any longer.

Tossing herself down upon the bed, a few books sliding off the side with a thud, Eleanor glanced up at the ceiling. Five years ago, her mother took her aside one evening and informed her she was sick. At the time, it was nothing more than a chest-cold, followed by a worsening illness, followed by weeks in Mungo's, followed by a death-sentence. Every morning, Eleanor convinced herself that she was _ready_ , that when it came time to bid farewell to her mother, she wouldn't shed a tear. Yet every night, lying alone in the dark, distinctly aware of how _lonely_ the world was, she knew that was lie. Her heart was breaking with each day her mother's illness worsened and it would quite possibly never heal again. Yet there were dozens of women below who felt there was nothing more important to discuss than the potential advantageous marriage of their young daughters.

Four days - then she'd be back in the Slytherin common room with her four poster bed, bothersome yet loveable roommates, and the distraction of classes. Before that, though, she'd have to say goodbye to her mother and try to pretend that they both knew it wasn't for the last time.

* * *

 **Authors Note:** It's been quite sometime since I dabbled in Fanficition. This story, however, has been sticking with me, refusing to let go. So this is my best attempt to do these characters justice. Please enjoy.

 **Update 9/11/2016:** Adjusted the rating to M, knowing it will turn that direction as the Dark Lord becomes a more pertinent character and the characters encounter more mature themes.


	2. a true brother

_"Here's to our past lives, our mothers and fathers"_

From _Past Lives_ by BØRNS

* * *

Rabastan was still awake when his parents came home from the Fairfax soiree. For the last hour he'd been watching the moonlight slowly drift across the ceiling of his bedroom, becoming nothing more than a sliver against the far corner. Closing his eyes, he listened to the soft murmurs of his parents voices and the click of their shoes against the wooden staircase. They turned left at the top of the stairs, walking past his bedroom, toward their own at the end of the wing. For a brief moment, he thought his father paused outside the doorway, just long enough for his breath to hitch painfully. When he heard them pass by without a slight hesitation, Rabastan tossed his arm across his eyes and rolled onto his stomach. He laid there until a restless sleep finally overtook him.

The next morning was difficult for Rabastan, particularly when his brother insisted on waking up far earlier than necessary by unceremoniously ripping off his blankets. "What the bloody hell was that for?" Rabastan asked, his voice soft and groggy, eyes heavy as he looked over at him.

"What happened to you last night? You disappeared after dinner," he said, making Rabastan wonder whether there was even a question mixed into that statement.

"I finished my schoolwork, which I presume you haven't even started yet?"

"Rabastan, sometimes I worry about you - perhaps you truly were adopted. I can think of no other reason why you would have this fascination with actually _finishing_ your schoolwork over Christmas Break," he said, leaning backward against the doorway. In that moment, his brother looked precisely like their father, dark eyes, broad shoulders, and high cheekbones and Rabastan felt the deep the instantaneous boiling sensation in his stomach. Ignoring the overwhelming sensation, he took in a deep breath, kicked off the rest of the blankets, stood and disappeared into the closet.

"Some of us would like to pass our O.W.L.S with more than Acceptable," Rabastan said while he began to change into his clothes. "I imagine you'll force one of the younger students to finish it for you?" He asked, emerging a moment later impeccably dressed, though his hair, which had adopted his mother's curl, was still wild and tangled.

"Without a doubt," Rodolphus responded absently while rifling through the letters on Rabastan's desk. "I'm going to the Malfoy's, you joining? I hear the lovely Black ladies may be there," he said with with a half-smirk.

"Is that why you woke me up?"

"Actually no, Father requested your presence in his study. Considering you left quite abruptly last night after a similar discussion with him, I presumed you'd rather avoid it at all costs," Rodolphus said, lifting up an ink bottle to examine its contents. Rabastan was silent, though he'd walked over toward the mirror and was attempting to smooth his hair down. "Was I correct?"

"Partially - at least the portion about yesterday evening. I will not, however, run away to Lucius' house."

"A pity. It will be far more diverting."

"I have no doubt, however, if Father beckons…" He finally turned back around and settled his gaze on Rodolphus, who was looking at him rather severely. "Enjoy the Black sisters for me," Rabastan said and was relieved to see the hint of smile on his brother's face. Moving past him with no further words, he walked straight down the hallway to the staircase, his feet moving out of sheer muscle-memory, since his mind was willing him to walk the opposite direction and join Rodolphus on a merry jaunt to the Malfoy's. Instead, he found himself pausing outside the double doors of his father's study and knocking.

"Enter."

Turning the handle, Rabastan pushed open the door and stepped inside. The walls were a forest green, complemented by dark mahogany, gold accents, and a large fire. An entire wall was lined with leather-bound books, the smell of their aged parchment pervasive. Rabastan kept his eyes on the floor, until his father coughed from behind his desk, a not-so-subtle request for him to look up. "You summoned me," he said, his tone formal, arms clasped behind his back.

"Yes, I did. Stand straight, Rabastan. Stop acting like a timid _woman_ ," he said while standing and walking to the bookshelf. "You left dinner quite early last night after our conversation."

Consciously pulling back his shoulders so that his back ached with the pain of standing taller, Rabastan was tempted to remain silent considering his father still had not asked him a single question, however, he knew that was unwise. "I did. I returned to my room to complete my schoolwork."

"I hope I will see the effects of this extra studying when your O.W.L scores arrives," he said, returning another book to the shelf with a dull thud. He never looked at Rabastan while he spoke, as if his own son was not worth his full attention.

"Father, I was hoping to visit the Malfoy Manor with Rodolphus…"

"We never completed our conversation regarding your future." His father interrupted, though Rabastan half expected it. It seemed his father never truly wanted to hear a complete sentence from his youngest son.

"I do not have anything else to add to our conversation. It seemed quite settled, yesterday," Rabastan said, the calm tone of his voice a distinct contrast to the twitching of his fingers behind his back.

"I expect you to live up to the expectations of this family name. Being a Lestrange was never intended to be _simple_. You are privileged enough to be a member of one of the oldest and strongest Pure Blood families in England, yet you treat our name as if it's no more than the name of a bloody _house elf_." Toward the end of this tirade, his father's voice reached a level that would shake any poor soul. After years of experiencing these moments of fatherly-love, Rabastan simply knew to stare back coldly, wondering why this man cared so little about him. Rodolphus once tried to convince him these conversations were a result of their father's love, that it was a way for him to try and share his wisdom. Rabastan had simply nodded, yet he wasn't naive enough to believe it.

"I know, father."

"I simply don't _understand_ you Rabastan." His voice was strained and he had finally turned to look at him directly, his pupils dilated as they searched his son's face.

"I know, father."

"When you return to Hogwarts, you must remember what your _place in society is._ You must _be_ a Lestrage. Are you listening to me Rabastan? You just," he paused, his breath shallow as he took a few steps forward. "Just - you're dismissed," he said eventually, waving his hand as if Rabastan were nothing more than an animal. Rabastan half-bowed while backing away toward the door. He fumbled with the handle for a moment before pushing it back open and escaping into the hallway. Gasping in a long breath, he held it until his eyes watered and lungs burned. With a turn, he rested both hands against the wall, leaning his weight against it, letting his head lull forward until the blood stopped pounding.

"Are you coming?" He heard Rodolphus say from around the corner. Lifting his head, Rabastan slowly looked at him. Staring at each other, neither of them said a word, though Rabastan saw the creases on Rodolphus' forehead and the way he glanced at the double doors as if with a curse.

"Yes, let me just grab my coat," he finally said with a simple, yet grateful, nod.


	3. easy to judge

" _Some time the dreamers finally wake up -"_

From _Past Lives_ by BØRNS

* * *

After returning to Hogwarts, it always took Eleanor a few nights to fully acclimate to being in the Slytherin dungeons. Morning was the oddest time; instead of sunlight streaming through windows, she was woken to the lighting of the lamps by the house elves (though she'd yet to actually see one of them). Narcissa Black slept next to Eleanor and was nearly always the first awake, bustling about in preparation for the day, making all types of noise, uncaring that her housemates were still resting. Dorcas was always the last to wake and even then, she remained groggy and irritated until the lunch hour, particularly toward Narcissa, who she blamed for her lack of beauty sleep.

"Eleanor, I can tell you're awake," Narcissa said while examining her nose in the mirror. "We have Transfiguration and it would be nice to actually enjoy breakfast this morning."

"I resent that remark," said a half-yawning Dorcas as she sat up and glanced around. "I know that is directed at me and I don't appreciate it." Narcissa said nothing in reply, simply lifted an eyebrow and went back to pinching her cheeks. "Why is it that the pretty one takes the longest to get ready in the morning?"

"I would say I take the appropriate amount of time to get ready in the morning and it's you that is quite delinquent in your feminine hygiene," Narcissa said.

"Do you need to use words like feminine hygiene this early in the morning? Beside, I don't think that's exactly what you mean to say," Dorcas said, winking at Eleanor who just smiled and shook her head.

"Nevertheless, I know Eleanor agrees with me," Narcissa said with a sniff as she closed the bathroom door, shutting their responses out.

"Morning to you, too, sunshine," Dorcas murmured to herself, but there was a definite smirk on her face as she stood up and stretched. Dorcas reminded Eleanor of a cat; constantly curled up in blankets, fond of cuddling, stretching her limbs and half-purring as she did so. Narcissa, however, was the Queen Bee (though the resemblance to the insect stopped there). Eleanor had not been surprised when Narcissa took control of their Slytherin tribe, it seemed almost expected, considering her lineage and social status. Eleanor wasn't certain what role she played. As an only child, she wasn't accustomed to having a _group_ , so analyzing how she fit into the structure was almost unimaginable. Narcissa once joked Eleanor was the secret keeper of the group, the one others turned to with their darkest thoughts, with the words that they couldn't utter to anyone else. Eleanor simply rolled her eyes, yet the words warmed her, the need to be _wanted_ undeniable.

Rising from her bed, Eleanor grabbed her uniform out of the trunk and began to change in unison with Dorcas. By the time they were dressed, Narcissa had returned to their common area and was situating her books inside a leather tote, leaving the bathroom to the two of them.

"I heard quite a rumor over Christmas break," Narcissa said quietly, her eyes glancing around the dorm to be certain their other housemates, Samantha and Marcie, were at breakfast. Dorcas didn't respond, though Eleanor caught her sideways glance in the mirror, as they both silently shared an internal chuckle over Narcissa's penchant for gossip.

"Yes, what did you hear?" Eleanor asked, shrugging silently at the aghast expression on Dorcas' face.

"Alecto Carrow is attempting to marry one of the _Lestranges,"_ she said, covering her mouth as a small fit of giggles escaped. "A Lestrange, can you imagine? What must have given her mother the idea that her daughter was capable of catching one of a son from one of the oldest pureblood lineages in Europe? It's absolutely laughable."

"Narcissa, your jealousy is glowing again. I swear your hair is an entire shade lighter," Dorcas said, laughing.

"It is not - and I am not jealous," she said, lower lip jutting out in the familiar way that indicated a lie. "What do you think, Eleanor?"

"I don't think we can rightly blame Mrs. Carrow for trying to have her daughter marry well, do you?"

"Oh come off it, Ellie - you're just saying that to be nice and in turn making me feel like a callous ogre," Narcissa said while crossing her arms.

"Is being nice such a terrible thing?" Eleanor asked, before dodging a pinch from Dorcas.

"In this case, yes. You know it's absolutely ridiculous that Alecto would even think either Rodolphus or Rabastan would give her a second glance."

"Narcissa-" Dorcas started, her eyes watching Eleanor closely with concern.

Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, Eleanor felt the tiny thread of sanity ripping apart as she spun around to look at her friend. "Don't you get it? I'm exactly like Alecto. I'm pureblood, certainly, but we all aren't from the Black Family, we all won't be able to marry well like you Cissa. So no, I don't blame Alecto's mother for trying to marry her to a Lestrange. I don't find it funny, I find it tragic. Alecto is lucky - because I won't have a mother to try and pair me together with a nice boy from a good pureblood family. I'll most likely be forced to marry a disgusting man like Snape or Wilkes. I'd be lucky if either Lestrange even acknowledged my existence."

Narcissa simply watched silently, her lips opening and closing a dozen times, perhaps swallowing the words she wanted to speak. Dorcas was quiet, too, though she let her hand gently graze Eleanor's shoulder as she walked out of the bathroom. Not wanting to wait for Narcissa to respond, she followed Dorcas out and grabbed her books from the bed. Without a word, she escaped through the dormitory door and walked into the Slytherin Common Room. Unprepared for the bustle before the first class, she was caught in a steady stream of students heading toward the exit. A few attempted to wave at her, but with her mind distracted on other things, including the overwhelming sensation, she barely even acknowledged them. Hugging her books tighter to her chest, she simply followed the crowd and emerged into the corridor. Transfiguration was a short walk, so she took a longer route, arriving just moments before class was to begin.

Both Narcissa and Dorcas were there already. Dorcas was seated next to Regulus Black, her normal partner. Narcissa was alone, the seat beside her normally saved for Eleanor. For a moment, she considered finding another spot; she wasn't certain she could say another word to Narcissa today without the aggravation erupting again. But she swallowed her emotions, straightened her back, and walked toward her stool. She sat silently, putting her books down on the desk gently and focusing on McGonagall who sat behind the desk scribble on a piece of parchment.

"I won't let you marry Snape or Wilkes."

"What?" Eleanor said, not expecting Narcissa to address her, let alone with those words.

"I will make sure you marry well, Ellie. You aren't going to be alone after your mother passes. You have me, and Dorcas. Though, I wouldn't take her recommendations on future husbands," she said softly. "It will be alright."

Eleanor swallowed the growing lump in her throat and blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. She simply nodded her head and opened her book the page written on the blackboard, trying to not to concentrate on the painful thudding of her heart.

* * *

 **Authors Note** : Thank you to those that are reading my story! Hope you're enjoying it.


	4. an introduction

" _The timing is right, the stars are aligned"_

From _Past Lives_ by BØRNS

* * *

Rabastan normally spent his evenings in the library, with nothing more than a large stack of books, parchment, and quills for company. It was how he preferred it - let Rodolphus be the social Lestrange, he was far more charming anyways. Augustus Rookwood tended to be the most vocal complainer, though, always insisting there were plenty of other diversions in the world than a slew of dead wizards and their egocentric books.

Tonight, however, he was taking Augustus' advice and _engaging_ with the opposite sex. Granted, he didn't think his best mate intended him to exchange the books for a snogging session with Alecto Carrow in an empty classroom.

Currently she was backed up against a desk, her legs slowly inching wider so they could ultimately wrap securely around his waist. Their chests were flush against each other and Rabastan could feel every time she took a breath in between kisses. He felt overheated with her body wrapped around his, as if he were standing too close to a fire and needed to step away. But her arms around his shoulders made that nearly impossible.

Alecto was a decent kisser, not that Rabstan had much firsthand experience, but he found her lips slightly chapped and the small sounds she made while sliding her lips over his were beginning to grate on his nerves. He kept his hands firmly planted on the outside of her thighs, though she seemed rather intent on sliding them up her skirts. Rabastan was rather oblivious to her attempts, though. While physically present, his mind was beginning to wander. First to his schoolwork, a quick review of the charms they'd learned today then a quick checklist of the potential topics on next week's transfiguration class, finally followed by the replaying of a conversation he'd overheard that morning between Rodolphus and Lucius regarding an old schoolmate of Rabastan's father who was seeking an introduction to them upon graduation.

"Rabastan, are you intending to actually kiss me?" Alecto asked, her voice disrupting his thoughts and painfully dragging him back to the present.

"I'm sorry," he said, though a bit uncertain why he felt the need to apologize.

With a sigh that bordered on reluctant, he leaned back in and pressed his lips to hers. As if to prove that his distraction was not an indication of boredom, Alecto slid her hand up his shirt and grazed her fingers over his lower abdomen. Rabastan's first instinct was to jolt backward, but her other hand was now locked tightly in his hair.

"Oi, Rabastan -" said a voice from the other side of the sealed doorway. "I'm coming in." Without a moment's hesitation, the door swung open and Augustus Rookwood strolled in, leaving them no time extricate their bodies from the rather embarrassing position.

"Augustus, can't you see we're busy?" Alecto said, the disdainful look giving her face a harsh, unpleasant expression.

"Alas, my dear Alecto, I truly could care less," Augustus responded cooly, his face impassive.

"What do you want, Auggie?" Rabastan asked to fill the silence that followed. He used Alecto's sudden distraction to disentangle their limbs and take a step backward. He was certain he looked quite rumpled - shirt untucked, hair in disarray, lips a bright red - and he nervously tried to fix his person. He never intended for anyone to know about this brief foray in the classroom, though he supposed Augustus should be the least of his concerns, considering Alecto's tendency to gossip.

"That blush quite suits you, my friend," Augustus said with a deep chuckle before continuing, "I have something of the utmost importance to discuss and while I loathe to tear you away from an actual attempt to socialize, it's importance far exceeds that of fulfilling the desires of your teenage hormones." Apparently rather impatient, Augustus reached out and grabbed Augustus' arm, giving it a sharp tug as he led him into and down the hallway, distancing them from the door. "Of all the girls in this school, you chose her?" He started, eyebrow lifted. "I could have introduced you to a number of lovely young Ravenclaws who wouldn't use this as a way to get a bloody ring on their finger."

"You wanted something, Augustus?" Rabastan responded, as if he'd not heard a word his friend spoke.

"This is important, too, Rabastan."

"It was simply a kiss."

"To you, perhaps, but by morning an owl will be waiting at the Carrow residence describing, in excessive detail, how you had Alecto in an empty classroom. How did that even start? Did she steal one of your library books and hold it hostage until you kissed her?" Augustus asked, laughing as they continued down the corridor.

"No, certainly not. And it meant _nothing_. If she thinks anything different, it's to her own detriment," Rabastan said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, shoulders slightly hunched as they made their way back to the Slytherin dungeons.

"But why? Why her?"

"Just get on with it, what is it you need, Augustus?" Rabastan said. While he kept a tone of frustration, he was actually quite grateful to his friend for interrupting their interlude in the classroom.

Sighing, perhaps accepting that Rabastan refused to discuss his night with Alecto, Augustus spun around, so he was walking backward directly in front of Rabastan. "Earlier - Lucius and Rodolphus were discussing a man your father wants them to meet."

"Yes, what of it?" Rabastan said, a bit too quickly.

"I want an introduction. You need to ask your father for me."

"What?" He said back, halting in the corridor to look directly at Augustus? "An introduction?"

"Yes, come off it, you heard me quite clearly," Augustus said, putting his hands on Rabastan's shoulders. Glancing behind himself, Augustus used his physical leverage to redirect them to the left, into a private alcove behind a statue, covering them in the darkness. "I want an introduction to Lord Voldemort."

Rabastan simply stared at him, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness until he could make out the curve of Augustus' cheeks and the bright white of his eyes. "Augustus-" He began, then paused, uncertain what words to continue with. The conversation he overheard that morning had been brief, just a simple one between two friends, yet it'd left Rabastan feeling off kilter. Although Lucius and Rodolphus were going to graduate in just a few short months and it was natural for them to consider their next steps, Rabastan inevitably felt as if the world were moving on without him. He knew very little of Lord Voldemort, except that he'd been a school friend of their father. While he went by a different name at the time, Rabastan knew of his reputation as a powerful dark wizard, something to be admired and abhorred simultaneously. Yet it seemed their father was intent on introducing only one of his sons to this Lord Voldemort.

"Rabastan, stop. I know what you're going to say, I know precisely what you're thinking and I won't accept it," Augustus said suddenly.

"Then tell me, what am I thinking?"

"Just ask your bloody father, he's not going to say no, despite whatever issues you seem to have with him."

"Issues -" Rabastan said, shoving Augustus' hands off his shoulders with an almost betrayed expression.

"Just _ask_ him."

"For your sake?"

"No, for your own. I know you, I know you want to be introduced, that it's killing you that he chose Malfoy over you, but I'm not letting you just lie down and accept it. For both _your_ sake and my own," he countered, grabbing Rabastan's shoulders again, this time with more force and pressure. "Admit it, you want to meet him."

"Of course I do!" Rabastan burst out, disregarding their attempt to whisper. "After fifteen years, though, I expect nothing less from my father. It seems almost fitting that he would disregard whatever worth I offer and find a replacement son. It seems this week, it's Lucius Malfoy. There's a reason he didn't mention me in his letter to Rodolphus. It would have been simple to include both of us. ' _I want to introduce you, Rabastan, and Lucius to a friend of mine'_ " he mimicked, swatting away Augustus' hands yet again. "Leaving only one logical explanation - he didn't include me for a reason - even if you believe it's an unconscious omission. He's embarrassed by me, always has been."

"Than what do you have to lose?"

"What little self-respect I have left."

"Self-respect is called that for a reason, Rabastan. You create it yourself, it's not something given to you by another. Your father is an arse. If he doesn't see the potential in you, than he's a fool. But he's not the one who will be missing out if you remain silent, only you'll suffer for that."

"Stop, stop," Rabastan said, head swirling, heart pulsing. He felt lightheaded, as if he'd been drinking firewhiskey, though he was completely sober. "Why are you so desperate for an introduction?"

"Because I _believe_. Can't you see it? Out there," Augustus said, gesturing beyond their dark alcove. "We're dismissed as ancient, archaic families, a relic even. The importance of _our_ world is dwindling. Our values are gone, replaced by the open-minded, fucked-up views of the dirty _mudbloods_. They'll have us living in the bloody suburbs with the muggles if we don't stop them," Augustus said, leaning backward against the stone wall. His voice was seething, his eyes passionate, though there was a calm logic to his monologue. "Please Rabastan."

Rabastan paused as he considered his friend. He knew their way of life was declining, that by the end of their generation, the pureblood families could disappear altogether. Yet the notion of approaching his father, even with such a simple request, left a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. Thinking about it, he suddenly felt dirty, the lingering sensation of Alecto's hands covering his body, like spiders crawling over him. Augustus was one of his closest friends and he was begging him, yet he was tempted to decline out of sheer fear. Perhaps this was why his father loathed him and why the Dark Lord seemed uninterested in the second son. "Fine, Augustus, fine," he said softly. "I'll ask him when I see him next, does that suffice?"

"I promise - you won't regret this," he said gently, carefully, knowing it would be easy for Rabastan to change his mind. "He will change our lives."

Rabastan said nothing, simply nodded. "To bed, I think."

"So Alecto Carrow - " Augustus chuckled as they turned out of the alcove and back into the abandoned corridor, speaking as if completely unaware he'd changed their fates in the span of one conversation. Rabastan knew though; there was no turning away from this decision.


	5. a bit hasty

_"The emotion is suddenly out of me_  
 _The emotion's building up inside of me_  
 _And what you're looking for is suddenly out of reach_  
 _The emotion, the emotion -"_

From _The Emotion_ by BØRNS

* * *

Eleanor's mother died late afternoon on an otherwise inconsequential Tuesday in March. She would have liked to think that when her mother drew her last breath, she'd _feel it_ \- a subtle clench of the heart, a skipped breath, anything. Eleanor was entirely unaware, however, until Slughorn came bustling into the Library calling for Madame Pince, who hushed him quite severely. His voice disrupted her own focus on a rather heinous History of Magic essay and Eleanor lifted her head to glance around, surprised to find that the library was practically abandoned. Nearly all the desks were empty, except for another student across the room, huddled beneath a lamp. It took only a momentary squint to recognize Augustus Rookwood, who was furiously scribbling on his parchment, as if possessed.

"Miss Fairfax," Slughorn suddenly said behind her. Jumping slightly, she turned toward him and swallowed. Despite the fact she was quite convinced she did nothing to merit a stern talking to, she felt herself cataloging every moment of the day to try and identify why her head of house was currently talking to her. "If you have a moment, I'd like to speak with you in my office."

"Yes-yes, sir," she said, knowing full well there was no other option. "Let me just-I'll-" she started, trying to gracefully gather up her books and parchment without drawing undue attention to herself. Unfortunately, considering there were only four people in the library, she knew that was highly unlikely. When her items were finally placed inside her satchel, she cast a final glance at Madame Pince, who was wiping her deyes with a lace handkerchief, then over to Augustus, who seemed to have noticed the hubbub and was watching her with an almost curious fascination.

Once standing, Slughorn placed a hand on her shoulder and began directing them out of the library toward his office. He was silent the entire walk, leaving no sound except the echo of their shoes. In the silence, Eleanor's minded continued her analysis of the day to find where she'd erred. Had she been impertinent in Potions? Argumentative in Transfiguration? Was her permission slip for Hogsmeade incomplete?

It only took until they reached the staircase for her to realize why she was being summoned. She paused without thinking, reaching out to steady herself on the bannister. Perhaps understanding that she'd pieced together the puzzle, Slughorn moved his arm around her shoulders in a fatherly way and effectively hoisted her up the remainder of the stairs to his office.

It was dark at first, though she found her way to a seat without much difficulty. Slughorn used his wand to light the lamps lining the walls and settled into his own seat behind the large wooden desk. "Unfortunately," he began, but paused. Eleanor almost wanted to tell him she knew, so she didn't have to actually hear the words strung together. He continued before she could gather the nerve to say anything, though. "I'm very sorry to say, we received word this evening that your mother has passed."

Hearing the words was quite different than simply thinking them. Suddenly the world was a combination of feelings, rather than thoughts: _burning lungs_ from holding her breath, _shivers_ from the goosebumps, _throbbing_ from the combination of dilated pupils and lamplight, _shaking_ hands from the shock, _stinging_ from the tears behind her eyes.

"Miss Fairfax," Slughorn said, reaching out and taking her hand into his with a subtle squeeze.

"When - when is the funeral?" she finally asked, her voice cracking, sounding rather unlike herself.

"Miss Fairfax..."

"When is the funeral?" she asked again, with far more force behind the words.

"We've been instructed by your father that he isn't, that he won't, that you are to remain here at Hogwarts."

"But Sir," Eleanor said, finally lifting her eyes away from the table. Suddenly her entire body felt taut, like a bow being pulled back with an arrow. Half lifting herself from the chair, shoulders straightening painfully, she reached forward and took hold of Slughorn's wrist. "I need to be there. It's my mother's funeral, it's-it's _important_ I'm there."

"I apologize. Even as your Head of House, I don't have the authority to disregard your father's wishes."

"Then let me talk to him."

"I will gladly make sure an owl is sent to him."

"An owl is too _slow._ He needs to come here, to speak to me," Eleanor said, the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, her hands shaking.

"He was quite clear that you are to remain here, Miss Fairfax. I apologize for having to be the one to inform you of this. I am also very sorry to hear of the passing of your mother. I recall her being an intelligent, gifted witch, and the world will certainly miss her."

Eleanor didn't wait to hear the rest of his praise. Without even an apology, she pushed back the chair, which screeched against the stone floor, grabbed her satchel, and ran toward the office door. Reaching out, she turned the handle, only to find that the door refused to budge. With a dry dob, she jostled the handle furiously, refusing to burst into tears in her professor's office. Using her entire body weight and the leverage of her knee against the door frame, she finally tugged it open and burst into the corridor with a gasp.

Slamming the door behind her, she began racing down the corridor immediately. The first hallway turned into the second turned into the third, Eleanor's feet leading her through the castle with no care as to their final destination. Any thoughts of going to the Dungeons were quickly dismissed. The library was now closed. The kitchens would be swarming with House Elves and Hufflepuffs, and Eleanor did not want company. It was only as she passed the Astronomy Tower that she slowed, glancing up the staircase cautiously. It was a notorious spot for late-night trysts, or even a midnight class, yet Eleanor only hesitated a moment before taking the stairs two at a time.

It was was empty. And refreshingly cool. Eleanor went straight to the window, resting her stomach against it and leaning out into the night air. A fog had settled over the grounds and she could barely see the Forbidden Forest on the edge of the lawn. She remained there, half teetering out the window, until her face was damp and her ribs ached from the pressure. Pulling her body back inside, she turned and slid down the wall until she was seated on the floor, legs bent up against her chest, arms wrapped around them.

Closing her eyes, Eleanor listened to the silence, which was cavernous and all-consuming. She remained frozen there, moving only when she felt warm tears soaking her shirt, and even then, it was only to rest her forehead down upon her knee. Her mother was _gone_. No amount of time, no amount of goodbyes, could have prepared her for the jolting realization that there would be no more motherly advice, no more kisses on her temple, no more warm hugs at school break. A void was opening in her heart, spreading wider with each memory of sunset strolls, tea-times in the garden, dancing by the fire. Clenching her eyes tighter, holding the hem of her skirt until both hands ached, she forcefully pushed the memories out of her mind and then imagined filing them away in the deepest recesses of her mind, like the restricted section of the library.

"He's not coming."

Whatever calm Eleanor found during her mental exercise erased with a gasp. Practically leaping off the floor, she ended up half-sprawled across it instead, glancing up at Rabastan Lestrange, who loomed above her. With shaking hands, she pushed herself up onto her knees, then to her feet, trying to quiet the deafening rush of blood in her head.

"Excuse me?"

"Rosier isn't coming. I just sent him back to the Common Room, with a detention of course. Found him at the bottom of the tower. He looked quite eager to get up here," he said while crossing his arms, as if finding the entire conversation tedious.

"I-That-What?" Eleanor asked, her eyebrows drawn together. Still hidden in the shadows, she used the moment to wipe away the remainder of her tears and sop up the moisture on her shirt. Her head was spinning, a combination of lingering grief and utter confusion. "I wasn't waiting for-" she began, but Rabastan spun around and walked toward the window, disrupting her train of thought.

"You're out of bed past curfew, punishable with detention, which you can serve in the Trophy Room. I gave Rosier a stint in the Herbology classroom, so you may thank me later. Though I have to say, I find it quite deplorable that two Slytherins are out of bed tonight. I expect this out of the Gryffindors, not my own house." The sound he made in his throat following his speech vaguely resembled a noise her nanny used to make when she was a young girl and Eleanor felt goosebumps instantly rise on her arms. It was the sound of disappointment and was usually followed with _I expected better of you_. Yet Rabastan Lestrange didn't know her. She'd spoken to him perhaps once or twice, only when she'd been with Narcissa, as it seemed her existence was not worth noting otherwise.

"Do you even know who I am?"

"Excuse me?"

"What's my name? You know, it's the thing that people generally go by, what their friends call them. Even Professors use it, you should try it sometime."

Rabastan turned away from the window at her little tirade, stepping closer until she was no longer shielded by the shadows. He studied her face for a moment then, clearly trying to place her amongst his classmates. "Margaret," he finally said, nodding his head firmly.

"Not even close. It's Eleanor, Eleanor Fairfax. And you, Rabastan Lestrange, are an utter arse, do you know that?" He looked shocked at her words, granted, even Eleanor herself was surprised to hear them. Dusting off her skirt, she reached down to gather up her books. Rabastan seemed to take note of her appearance, as he looked nothing short of perplexed when Eleanor looked back at him. For a moment she simply stared at him, letting her eyes rom from the top of his head down his chest. Until this evening, she'd always thought him an attractive man - sharp cheekbones, curly hair, full lips, broad shoulders. Tonight, his face looked haughty and egotistical, full of Pureblood arrogance.

"The fact that you would think - that you believe I was here-" Eleanor tried to say, but her emotions stopped the words, choking them back until she was gasping for air. There was a slew angry words she wanted to throw at him, he even seemed to expect it, yet she stood there like a fish, mouth opening and closing as her forehead wrinkled and eyes squinted with tears. Before he could fill the silence, Eleanor turned and ran out of the astronomy classroom, not caring that at this speed she was likely to trip on the stairs going down. She didn't stop even as she reached the Dungeons, ran past her friends in the common room, burst through their dormitory door, and catapulted herself onto the bed. Grabbing her pillow, she barely had a spare moment to bury her face in it before the torrent of tears began spilling out.

* * *

 **Authors Note** : I've been updating quite frequently over the last week and I intend to continue that cadence, however, I am going out of town beginning Wednesday evening. I may or may not have time to post before that. If not, please expect an update in about a week or so. Thank you again for all those who are reading my story. I hope you are enjoying reading about Rabastan and Eleanor as much as I enjoy writing about them.


	6. pride & polish

_"I lost count so long ago_  
 _Maybe my heart's numb_  
 _Don't hold my hands accountable_  
 _They're young and they're dumb"_

From _The Emotion_ by _BØRNS_

* * *

Rabastan didn't realize anything was out of sorts until a fourth-year girl literally _kicked_ him under the lunch table. When he looked at her, expecting an apology, she simply lifted her eyebrow and followed it up with a rather rude and abrasive gesture that was certainly not appropriate in the Great Hall. He later found out that the rather large bruise was courtesy of one Dorcas Meadowes. Her behavior was only reiterated by Narcissa Black, whom Rabastan liked to consider a friend. When he walked over to speak with her in the Common Room, she huffed, spun around, and walked straight into the girl's dormitory without so much as a word.

To make matters worse, none of his usual gossip sources (generally limited to the sixth year girls and a few select fifth years) were privy to whatever travesty he committed. Meanwhile Alecto seemed intent on continuing their engagement from the previous week and was overly curious why two eligible young women were not speaking to him, though perhaps the curiosity was more akin to jealousy. He chose not to analyze the situation too closely. Frustrated, Rabastan turned to the only remaining option: Augustus. Setting Augustus loose to ferret out the truth was dangerous. His friend was overly talented at not only unearthing the truth, but discovering the darker secrets hidden in the Hogwarts walls. He'd learned the hard way that some of those stones were better left unturned, though.

It was a chilly spring night when Augustus approached Rabastan with information. The fire was blazing in the dungeon and Rabastan was lounging in one of the chairs nearest it, studying a rather ghastly book on Potions. Augustus approached quietly, clearing his throat casually. Lifting his eyes slowly over the top of the book, Rabastan thought his friend looked far too smug.

"You look like cat who just got into the cream," Rabastan said coolly, putting his eyes back down on the page and running his finger along the instructions to try and understand why his cauldron melted that morning.

"Maybe I just did," Augustus said, sitting down with a grin. "I figured out what's causing your girl troubles."

"I don't have _girl troubles_ , Augustus, I have two bothersome fourth-years that are ignoring and attacking me simultaneously. I'd simply like to know why."

"Even if we ignored those two, you still have girl-troubles, mate. Alecto keeps looking across the room and licking her lips. I told you fooling around with her was a terrible idea."

"So you said."

"Will you put that book down and actually pay attention?"

Rabastan sighed, finished the end of the sentence, and closed it with a thud. "You said you know why Narcissa and that other girl are pestering me?"

"You, my friend, are a fucking arse," Augustus said with a large grin.

"I've been told that before."

"Do you recall having a rather intriguing conversation with a fourth-year by the name of Eleanor Fairfax?"

"Eleanor Fairfax?" Rabastan repeated back, looking up at the ceiling as he tried to recall a particular incident.

"You gave her a detention in the Astronomy Tower, or so I've been told."

"Ah yes, she was waiting for Rosier. _And_ was out of bed past curfew, I might add," Rabastan said, unintrigued by this information. A detention didn't seem worth a bruise on his shin and the cold-shoulder from a friend.

"Well, it turns out you've got the story all wrong," Augustus said, leaning forward onto his elbows.

"You really should start a knitting circle, your love of gossip is grotesque," Rabastan said, then waited. When his friend didn't continue, but instead gave him a peeved expression, he sighed. "Why the hell was she in the Astronomy Tower past curfew then, hm? And why was Rosier standing there at the bottom nervously?"

"Well, Rosier _was_ out of bed past curfew and he _was_ intending to meet someone of the female variety. Thought their tryst was planned for the broom cupboard right next to the Astronomy Tower. Where your mistake starts is with Miss Fairfax. It seems that she wasn't in fact waiting for Rosier."

"I've gathered as much."

"It turns out she was in the Astronomy Tower crying her eyes out after Slughorn gave her the rather depressing news that her mother had passed away that afternoon."

"Excuse me?" Rabastan said, his boredom suddenly quite gone, his attention finally on Augustus.

"You heard me. You gave detention to a poor girl who was in the Astronomy Tower to cry about the fact that her Mum died. Which basically, as I said, makes you a fucking arse."

Rabastan was silent for a moment, thumbing his fingers along the gilded edges of his Potions book. "So it would seem I am quite an arse," he said quietly, more to himself, clearly not as amused by the truth as Augustus was.

"Yes, it would. I also managed to get out some additional information regarding you being an egotistical, judgmental prick who thinks too highly of himself." Rabastan said nothing, simply looked at his friend with narrowed eyes. Augustus half smiled and shrugged, "But that's just the opinion of a few fourth-years, so who the hell cares. You need anything else or should I let you brood over your Potions book again?"

"When was her detention?"

"Tomorrow, Trophy Room."

"Thanks, Augustus," Rabastan said while turning his attention back to the book, which he opened slowly and began to read again. This time, though, as he reviewed the spells, his brain seemed to comprehend the words individually, but strung together in a sentence, he couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Rabastan spent the rest of the evening pretending to be studying, while actually trying to replay that night in his head. The detention was deserved, he reminded himself. Despite the passing of her mother, she'd been out of bed past curfew. His insinuation that she'd been waiting for Rosier was unfortunate, but he didn't remember being too misogynistic. There had been that moment where he'd thought her name was Margaret, but truly, they were a year apart, why would he know who she was? It wasn't a valid excuse, he realized, but it left his mind clear enough that he could fall asleep that night without much issue.

The next day passed quite uneventfully until dinner, when he watched out of the corner of his eye as Eleanor rose up from the table and began her trek to the Trophy Room. Part of Rabastan wished he could snag her attention just long enough to look apologetic. Her eyes remained on the floor, though, and Rabastan simply watched her walk out, trying not to overanalyze the sadness in her expression. Turning back to his dinner, he ate a few more bites before realizing that everything tasted sour. Gritting his teeth, he practically slammed his goblet of water onto the table before turning and standing up. A few eyes glanced at him, perhaps curious why the generally graceful Rabastan was suddenly rather loud and brusque, however, he ignored them all.

Without even considering how unwelcome he may be, Rabastan followed Eleanor's path to the Trophy Room. He hesitated at the doorway, rethinking his rash decision, before pushing the door open and stepping inside. It took a moment to find her amidst the trophies and plaques. She was in the back, trying to sort through a container of rags and polish. Rabastan moved toward her slowly and with each step he realized how absurd he was behaving. Chasing after a fourth-year girl into the Trophy Room? He could only imagine what the whispers were at the Slytherin Table right now, which almost guaranteed a nice, long conversation with Alecto later.

"Eleanor?" He finally said, pausing a good distance away, hands clasped behind his back. Her head swiveled toward him at a speed that made his neck ache just watching.

"What do you want?"

Biting back the snide remarks that came to mind (and realizing with a groan that perhaps he truly was an arse), he gestured at the rags and shrugged. "I came to help. I found out why you were in the Astronomy Tower, and I, well, if I'd known I wouldn't have given you a detention."

"So you decide that cornering me in the Trophy Room and helping me polish is the best way to apologize?" Eleanor asked.

"Well, yes."

"You know, I tried to tell you why I was in the Astronomy Tower. But you kept insisting that I was out past curfew waiting to _snog_ Rosier and I couldn't get a word in edgewise. Is it a prerequisite before becoming a Prefect that you have to love the sound of your own voice?"

"Now listen - I came to apologize and help you clean the trophies. If I'm not welcome, than fine. But I'm simply trying to help and make amends."

"Why would I want help from someone who didn't even know who I was? You're doing this out of guilt, nothing more."

"I apologized for that."

"No, actually, you didn't."

"Then I'm sorry, I'm sorry I didn't know the name of some fourth-year girl that I've barely spoken three words to."

"And is that my fault? Every time you talk to Narcissa am I just invisible? When I'm seated near you at dinner, is there just a gaping hole along the table where my body is? I may not be a _Black_ or a _Lestrange_ , but I deserve to at least have your respect. Or at the very least, I deserve to not be invisible."

"Get off your soapbox - or should I call it your throne of pride, instead? Only you could be all high and mighty while surrounded by rags and polish. I came here to help because I realized I misjudged you the other night. It seems, however, that you're quite happy to willfully misjudge me. So don't lecture me, Miss Fairfax, before taking a look in the mirror yourself. I came here to apologize, which makes you the arse now." Before he could blink, Rabastan felt a rag smack him straight in the face, stinging slightly, before it fell at his feet.

"I don't want your help, Rabastan _Lestrange_."

"So it would seem."

Eleanor said nothing else to him, she simply turned, grabbed another rag, placed some polish on the edge and began to scrub one of the trophies in front of her. Rabastan watched her for a moment, a bit enthralled by the fervor behind her polishing. He presumed she was pretending that trophy was his face and she was somehow erasing him from existence. There was a subtle flush rising in her cheeks and dark hair was falling out of her ponytail; he was surprised to find it quite curly, like his own. He wondered what color her eyes were, but didn't dare say another word to try and get her attention. Truthfully, he wondered how he'd managed to overlook her for the last four years. He couldn't seem to stop watching her now.

"I'm sorry to hear about your mother," he eventually said, gently this time, trying to construe actual sympathy. He watched her pause and swallow, head bowing lower until it almost touched the trophy she was polishing. From this angle, he couldn't tell if she was crying, but he wanted to reach out and put a hand on her shoulder, either way.

"Thank you," she finally said, the agitated voice from earlier suddenly weaker and choked up.

Rabastan nodded and didn't hesitate to turn and leave, deciding it was better to let them part on kind words, rather than their biting argument from earlier. There was quite a bit more he wanted to say to her, but doubted he'd ever have the chance. Eleanor Fairfax wanted nothing to do with him and there was no reason for him to seek her company again. While he could understand her contempt, he'd imagined this conversation ending quite differently. Turning left outside the Trophy Room, he continued back to the Common Room at a clipped pace. Opening the doorway with the password, he ignored the few friends who tried to get his attention, instead walking straight over to Augustus and sitting down beside him.

"You're right, I'm a bloody arse. But you know what, she's a bloody arse, too," Rabastan said.

"A match made in heaven, then" Augustus said without even looking up from his book, smirking silently.


	7. a necessary evil

_"There was a thunder inside of my heart_  
 _There was a wonderful pleasure"_

From _American Money_ by Børns.

* * *

Eleanor could still smell trophy polish on her hands when she left Hogwarts in June. Throughout the summer break, while lying in bed, the warm air almost unbearably humid, she would catch whiffs of it, as if the scent had seeped into her pores, quite like the memory.

Summer went quickly for Eleanor, despite the fact her father spent the majority of it trying to avoid her presence. He was quite successful, considering the extension of his month long sojourn to Japan lasted nearly the entire break. It was a coping mechanism, Dorcas said, though Narcissa added it was a weak one. Even when he returned, just days before she left, it was simply to confirm she'd purchased the required books and understood the expectations for her 'O'. While he took her to Kings Cross, he deposited her at Platform 9 ¾, kissed her cheeks, and departed before she had even wheeled her cart through the barrier.

Unlike every previous year, Eleanor was entirely unprepared for how quickly time could pass when every waking moment was spent in the library. September blended with October which quickly became November and it seemed she wasn't a single day closer to successfully passing her exams. Every morning and evening was spent huddled over a lantern in the Library attempting to memorize historical dates and spells. As the professors seemed intent on giving them _extra_ classwork this year, Eleanor's hand was starting to form calluses from holding a quill too tightly. Yet all her efforts weren't enough, at least not for every class.

Eleanor Fairfax needed a Defense Against the Dark Arts tutor.

Or so Professor Bastian informed her during an excruciatingly awkward meeting that included Slughorn nodding in the corner of his office. Apparently her essays were more than adequate to reach N.E.W.T level, however, her practical application of the defensive spells would only gain her an "Exceeds Expectations" at best. Despite her insistence that becoming a Healer shouldn't necessitate an 'Outstanding' or above in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Eleanor knew the likelihood of successfully petitioning her opinion was slim to none. So she simply accepted her fate, tried to be grateful for the added attention, and agreed to a tutor.

That was until they actually identified her tutor as Rabastan Lestrange.

Eleanor's first response was to laugh. She glanced around the room, trying to determine if this was an odd dream and she'd be woken up by Narcissa's morning routine soon. When pinching herself resulted in a rather clear bruise and Slughorn began looking as if she may need a mental exam in the Hospital Wing, it dawned on her that they were seriously suggesting _Rabastan_ as her tutor. A slew of potential excuses popped into her mind, followed by a variety of reasons why he was a terrible choice, only to be wiped away the minute Slughorn told her Rabastan had already agreed. At that point, unable to truly put together a coherent sentence why this was absolutely inconceivable, Eleanor had no other choice but to nod her head and agree to meet him.

Half in a daze, it was a miracle she made it to the Great Hall without any mishaps. Sliding onto the bench beside Dorcas, who sat across from Narcissa, she stared down at the plate numbly as it filled with food.

"What's up?" Dorcas asked with a half-full mouth.

"Manners," Cissa said to her. "You look as if you've seen a ghost, Ellie."

"I need a Defense Against the Dark Arts Tutor," Eleanor said sullenly, stabbing a piece of beef and studying it without any appetite.

"Bummer, though I guess there are worse subjects," Dorcas said with a shrug. "How're you going to find one?"

"Slughorn already did."

"Who is it?"

Eleanor paused and considered trying to lie. Perhaps she could claim it was a Hufflepuff, even a Gryffindor, and they would stop questioning her. The truth would get out eventually, though - it always did at Hogwarts - so she bit down on her lip and groaned. "Rabastan Lestrange."

"Excuse me?" Narcissa said, suddenly perking up at the conversation.

"Oh-Ho!" Dorcas practically shouted, eyebrows shooting up to her hair-line while her utensils clattered to the table. "You're lying, or if you're not, that's possibly the most ironic thing I've _ever_ heard."

"I'm not quite sure ironic is the word I'd use," Eleanor said, finally taking a bite of the meat.

"Rabastan Lestrange?" Narcissa questioned, her mind clearly having difficulty comprehending the conversation.

"Yes, that's what she said, Rabastan Lestrange. Come off it Cissa, you can't possibly be jealous about this. He's going to tutor her," Dorcas said, face incredulous, voice a bit harsh.

"I'm not _jealous_ ," Narcissa tried to say, but her voice squeaked slightly on the second syllable making it quite clear she was. It was no secret to Dorcas or Eleanor that Narcissa was quite fond of the younger Lestrange. There had been a time when both Lestrange brothers were the apple of her eye, though with the impending engagement announcement between Bellatrix, her eldest sister, and Rodolphus, it seemed she'd finally given up all hope for the elder. Rabastan, though, was still quite available. Eleanor knew precisely where Narcissa's imagination was: private tutoring, empty classrooms, subtle flirting over a successful countercurse, and before long she was envisioning Eleanor sprawled over a desk while Rabastan undressed her.

"There is absolutely nothing to be jealous about, Cissa. Honestly, he's the last person I want to be tutoring me. How bloody embarrassing. I can't believe Slughorn went to him and said I needed _help_ for my O. . He must think I'm an idiot," Eleanor said, putting the fork down and giving up all hope of eating.

"I doubt he thinks you're an idiot. Clearly he agreed to it. He could have just laughed and held it over your head for the next two years," Dorcas said while stealing Eleanor's untouched potatoes and sliding them over to her own plate.

"He still knows, though. I don't like anyone thinking I'm incapable. I'm not incapable. It's just not my best course. I still can't believe it's a requirement for a Healer to take a N.E.W.T level. What do they expect, I'll be counter-cursing things as I heal?"

"It's probably so you can identify dark magic," Dorcas said.

"That's not the point," Eleanor practically shouted, knowing full well her argument for why she didn't need Defense Against the Dark Arts was illogical.

"It'll be fine, Ellie. Just take a deep breath. At least you're getting help. Half the students out there won't get an 'O' and I bet you Bastian and Slughorn could careless, they clearly want you to succeed. So pick and choose your battles. Might be Rabastan, but I heard he received the best scores in Slytherin last year. Couldn't ask for a better teacher." Eleanor signed, but nodded slowly. At least her professors seemed to care whether she passed her exams or not.

"I still can't believe Rabastan Lestrange agreed to tutor _you_ ," Narcissa said, after a long pause in which Eleanor believed the conversation to have ended.

"Well, believe it. Though, whatever fantasy you've cooked up in that mind of yours, go ahead and erase it. This is not some convoluted attempt to get into his pants. Besides, isn't he dating Alecto?" Eleanor asked rhetorically, not very interested in trying to appease Narcissa's jealousy. Her friend simply sniffed at the mention of their other female classmate, glanced down the table to where she sat, and went silent. Eleanor let the silence linger and was eventually the first to get up and head back to the library.

Her first session with Rabastan was scheduled for the next Wednesday. Professor Bastian was letting them use his empty classroom, which was dark and rather eerie when Eleanor arrived. Only a single lantern was lit and it cast elongated shadows across the walls. With a flick of her wrist, Eleanor lit the other lanterns in the room and moved to the front, depositing her bag on the first desk.

"Unfortunately, lighting a candle isn't included on the exam."

Eleanor turned to face the back corner, where Rabastan stood leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed casually. "How long have you been standing there?"

"The whole time."

"Why didn't you just say something?" He shrugged and she rolled her eyes, a bit perturbed at his insistence on terrifying her every time they spoke. The Astronomy Tower, the Trophy Room, now the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom, it seemed he was entirely incapable of announcing his presence like an ordinary person.

"I just did."

"For merlin's sake," Eleanor mumbled to herself. "Do you hear yourself? _Conceited arse._ " She whispered the last bit under her breath, though she saw him smirk across the classroom.

"Hear you're having some issues with Defense Against the Dark Arts. An intriguing issue considering your house," Rabastan said, moving away from the wall and sitting atop one of the desks in the last row. He looked rather young, Eleanor thought, with his legs hanging off the edge and his school uniform a bit askew.

"I didn't hear it was a prerequisite to be in Slytherin."

"Should be."

"Thanks for that, really, you're a great tutor so far. You've got the whole motivational bit down perfectly."

"I'm here to help you learn counterspells, not motivate you."

"Why _did_ you agree to tutor me? I would have imagined I'm the last person you want to help."

"Do you want my help?"

Eleanor paused there, half tempted toward a snide remark that would undoubtedly lead to his quick departure. Swallowing what little pride she still had, Eleanor nodded her head. "Yes," though her voice was strained as she spoke through gritted teeth.

"Bastian says you're excellent on the analysis piece, it's the actual application of the spells you're struggling with? What about Charms, do you struggle there, too?"

"You know, you could tone down the judgment a bit. I'm not completely inept as a witch."

Rabastan seemed to sigh and nodded his head. "I'm simply trying to narrow down what might be causing the issue, so we don't waste time on something pointless."

"Fine, then no, I don't struggle in Charms. I actually have one of the highest grades in the class."

"I'm sure you do," he said with a slight roll of his own eyes. "Then it must be something to do with the curses themselves. I don't think there is much difference, personally, between charms and counterspells. You're not changing anything physically with the object and there is no malintent with either. So I wonder whether-"

"Then that doesn't explain why one I'm fine at while the other I'm not

"Can I finish talking?" He took her silence as acceptance continued. "I wonder whether you've ever actually tried to perform a curse. Not just silly jinxes, but a real curse."

"Perform a curse? As in borders-on-magic-that-is- _forbidden_ -in-the-castle?"

"I prefer to think of it as a student-of-magic attempting to learn all facets of the subject."

"Think what you want, it's still forbidden. It's _Defense_ Against the Dark Arts, not _Perform_ the Dark Arts," Eleanor said, though she was trying not to appear as innocent and naive as she currently felt.

"Do you want to get your Outstanding?"

"Well yes, of course."

"What do you intend to do with it, I mean with the N.E.W.T classes. Not planning to be an Auror are you?" He asked with a grin.

"Of course not, I'm trying to become a healer. You know, the individual that's there to help the poor sods that get hit with curses."

"Ah, you would make a fine Healer."

"Will make a fine Healer."

"If only you'd take my advice and actually _learn_ magic."

"I know magic."

"You know half of magic, the happy-unicorn side, but that's only a part of the equation, Eleanor," Rabastan said while walking toward her slowly, the surety in his movements a bit alarming. "I'm not saying you need to start performing the Unforgivables or risk expulsion by cursing a student, but you need to understand what you're defending if you're going to counter it."

"Other students seem perfectly capable of learning these spells without learning the actual curses."

"You are not the other students."

"Why not?"

"Now that, I can't answer for you. I'm simply offering a potential solution," he said, pausing his movements to stand in front of her. He was taller than she remembered, and his shoulders seemed broader at this distance. Earlier she'd observed his uniform was askew, now she realized his hair was also tousled and his cheeks seemed a bit flushed. She could feel the heat of his body radiating toward her, countering the cool breeze that was coming in from an open window. He leaned forward, lowering his face until it was almost at her height and smiled. "I want to help you."

"I don't understand why," Eleanor said, licking her lips before she could think better of the gesture. He watched her mouth, but his face showed no expression.

"You intrigue me," he said with a simple shrug, as if that one word explained everything. "The question that remains is whether you trust me."

"No, I don't."

"A wise choice," he said, grinning. "Are you going to let me help?"

Eleanor didn't dare say another word, as it was difficult enough to keep her eyes off his smile, but she nodded quickly.

"Wonderful. We'll begin next week, same time and place. Until then, I want you to research the most commonly used curses, but this time, not from the perspective of defending them. I want you to research what it takes to _use_ them." For a second, it felt as if Rabastan would move closer to her, but then he pulled back and abruptly turned. In a few long strides, he was at the back tables grabbing his bag and heading straight to the door without a glance back. Even from behind him, though, Eleanor could tell he was still grinning.


	8. risk, reward & third degree burns

_"Through all of my lives_  
 _I never thought I'd wait so long for you_  
 _The timing is right, the stars are aligned"_

 _From Past Lives by Børns_

* * *

"Snog him," Dorcas whispered, her body pressed close to Eleanor's behind a statue in the west wing of the fourth floor.

"Excuse me?" Eleanor asked, her brain taking exceptionally long to comprehend two simple words.

"Snog his bloody brains out."

"He's _tutoring_ me, this isn't about snogging or anything like that."

"She says after describing sexual tension that could have set Hogwarts on fire."

"You're exaggerating; purposely, I might add. And if you must call it sexual tension, than at least call it _one-sided_ sexual tension."

"Fine, fine, but tell me, what do you have to lose?"

"Um-well-my tutor for starts. In addition to my self-respect and dignity."

"And what if he _wants_ to snog you?"

"Highly unlikely and even if that remote possibility turns out to be true, is it worth taking that risk?"

"A calculated risk."

"A stupid risk."

"Eleanor Fairfax! One of the most handsome men in our house is flirting with you while simultaneously tutoring you in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm half turned-on just thinking about what you said. Picture it, the dark room... he reaches over to help wave your wand, his hand slides across her abdomen, you turn slowly and slide your hand under his shirt, touch his soft skin. Before you know it, he's pushed you up against the wall and is sliding your skirt-"

"Are you writing a pornographic story or trying to help me with my problem?"

"Hey, hey, you came to me for a reason. You could have gone to Cissa."

"Yes, and faced her jealousy for the next year? I think not. She's half in love with Rabastan, I'm not going to tempt the dragon out her lair."

"Look at me," Dorcas said, putting her hand on Eleanor's shoulders and shaking her until their eyes met. "Every now and then, you have to live a little. Take a risk. You haven't dated anyone since your mother passed. You've barely enjoyed Hogsmeade. What's a little snogging? I know you have a list of excuses that is longer than a Quidditch Pitch, but I dare you to toss them out the window and just go with what your heart tells you to do."

"My heart, you say?" Eleanor asked, quirking an eyebrow up while taking in a deep breath. "It's playing with fire, Dorcas. Lots of hot, burning, scalding fire."

"So you might get burned. You want to be a healer; you'll figure out how to fix it," she said, with a reassuring smile and a nod of her head.

Dorcas glanced out into the hallway to confirm it was empty before slipping out, dragging Eleanor with her. They soon joined the throng of students headed toward the Great Hall for supper, even though Eleanor would spend the majority of the evening pretending to eat, while actually scattering the food across her plate. Every now and then Narcissa would try to engage her in conversation, clearly concerned about her friend's sudden lack of appetite, but Eleanor deflected every topic back to Dorcas. Each minute she spent pretending to eat was another minute closer to her lesson with Rabastan.

It'd been three weeks since he began tutoring her. Three weeks of deserted classrooms, his chest pressed up against her back as he taught her the wand movements. Three weeks of goosebumps from his breath on her neck as he whispered instructions. Three weeks of Eleanor leaving her lessons breathless, body tingling with anticipation. Tonight would be no different, neither would the next night, except she knew that all her emotions would eventually boil over. Eleanor was torn between the unfamiliar lust and their pre-established relationship filled with the familiar emotions of anger and prejudice. He was a condescending know-it-all that never seemed to hesitate in reminding her of his superiority. She should hate him, not be dreaming of him.

"Eleanor, it's time for your lesson," Dorcas whispered to her with a nudge. Eleanor nodded and slid out from the bench, ignoring the few glances (particularly Alecto's) that watched her as she exited the Great Hall. The corridors were nearly empty, just a few turns and twists and she was standing outside the classroom, a bit hesitant to go inside. Rabastan would already be there, he always was. Taking one last deep breath, she turned the handle and pushed open the door, stepping inside.

"You're late," Rabastan said from the back corner of the room, where he always stood while waiting for her.

"Barely-it's a minute past. I was finishing dinner," Eleanor said, half-rolling her eyes and yet taking his remark as a reminder that she _shouldn't be attracted to him_.

"You barely touched your dinner, but that's besides the point. Come here." He gestured at the front of the room and began walking toward it, spinning to face her once he reached a large open space where the desks normally stood. He'd already pushed them aside, it seemed, giving them ample space to practice. Eleanor followed after him, dropping her bag onto a nearby table before standing in front of him.

"What are we going to be working on today, tutor?"

"The Blasting Curse," he said, entirely ignoring the tone of her voice in exchange for flourishing out his wand and pointing it toward her. " _Confringo,_ " he said, causing Eleanor to half-squeak as the curse swiped passed her, hitting one of the desks behind her. Rabastan grinned devilishly, his dark eyes glinting as he reached forward to take her arm.

"You almost hit me."

"I wasn't even close."

"You could still have hit me."

"Do you doubt my abilities that much?"

"You're a bloody sixth year pointing a blasting curse at me, yes I doubt you!"

"What confidence you have in your tutor."

"Don't forget, I didn't chose you. And I doubt Slughorn expected you to be directing curses at me. Or teaching me curses period."

"He expected me to make sure you pass your OWLs. which you will. Now come here, Eleanor."

With a sigh, she moved toward him and turned to face the same table that he'd just hit with the curse. Rabastan stepped up behind her and, just as she took in a breath, he placed both hands on her hips, positioning her in the center of the room. His hands lingered, until she could feel the heat from his palms through her shirt. Eleanor swore he squeezed gently before removing them, the memory of the pressure lingering until goosebumps rose up her ribcage.

"Now, did you see my wand gesture? It's like a triangle movement. Start here," he said, gesturing down toward the left, then he moved his arm up to the peak of the triangle, back down and to the side. Eleanor watched, nodding slowly, before he nodded his approval for her to try it. Her attempt to mimic the movement was adequate, though she knew before he even spoke that it wasn't perfect. "No, like this, a bit faster." Rabastan wrapped his hand around hers, nearly encompassing it, and directed her movement. "Do you feel how fast I'm going? It's faster upward, then slow down as you finish the triangle."

"I feel it," Eleanor said, though she wasn't quite certain _which_ feeling she was talking about. His fingers on top of hers, the warmth from his body against her back, the way her heart raced, or the way her breath shortened until it was almost nonexistent.

"Now I want you to do the gesture, but also try to use the curse."

"You know this curse can backfire on you. It can kill people."

"There's nobody else but me here. Just try not to hit Bastian's mirror, you know he loves it."

"I could hurt _you_."

"You won't, trust me."

"I think you're trusting _me_ a bit too much."

"Have some faith in yourself. Now, come on, try the spell."

Eleanor glanced at him warily, lifting a single eyebrow and shaking her head. Rabastan simply smiled at her, waving his hand toward the table she was meant to hit. Turning her concentration back to the spell, she closed her eyes a moment and then opened them as she formed the triangle. " _Confringo_ ," she said, the spell shooting out like a the last sparks on a dying candle. Instead of the desk flying backward, it simply sat there.

"You didn't mean it," he said."

"I did mean it. I've never done this spell before, give me a second. Bloody hell." Eleanor lifted her wand again and formed the triangle. " _Confringo_ ," she said, with far more confidence this time. The spell shot out with more force than she anticipated, forcing her to take a step backward with her left foot for balance. Eleanor's sudden movement redirected the spell though, and instead of hitting the desk, it went straight into Bastian's mirror. The mirror didn't shatter, as Eleanor expected, instead it deflected back into the table, which hurtled at them. It hit them before either could contemplate moving.

Eleanor's first thought was that she couldn't breath. The wind had been knocked out of her and her ribs ached from where the table collided with her body. Sprawled on the stone floor, she tried to gasp in a breath, just to have it lodge in her throat. Eleanor's second thought was that something heavy was lying on top of her chest. For a moment, she thought the table had tipped over and she was trapped. It took just a second for her to realize that the 'something heavy' was actually Rabastan.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his voice very soft, his mouth close to her ear. Still gasping for air, she simply nodded. Rabastan looked down at her, his eyes darting over her face and then down her body, patting her stomach and ribs gently, as if confirming there wasn't any blood or bone sticking out. "Bloody hell, bloody _fucking_ hell," Rabastan said, his eye settling on her face as the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. He then closed his eyes and half-laughed, before bowing his head forward until it nearly touched her chest. '

Later, Eleanor would blame her decision on lack of oxygen; she must have been delirious. Though at the time, it all seemed quite expected and absolutely ordinary. Lifting her hands, which shook slightly, she placed them on either side of his face, cupping his cheeks. Rabastan lifted his head and looked at her then, his dark eyes almost impossible to discern. He blinked though, and watched her, his expression showing curiosity and a slight confusion. Eleanor brushed her thumb against his cheek, simply watching him for a moment, entranced by the way their breathing had synchronized. Despite the ache in her neck, Eleanor leaned upward and pressed her lips to his.

For a moment, Rabastan remained absolutely still and Eleanor wondered if she'd made a grave error in judgment. Just before she began to pull away, though, he slid his arm around her shoulders, using his strength to hold up her body as he angled his face to deepen the kiss. Brushing her hands back into his hair, she tugged him down until their chests were pressed together, her head resting on the stone floor. Any desire to breath, any coherent thought, was quickly gone, both replaced by nothing more than instinct.

Suddenly their world was a heart-racing combination of warm breath, soft hands, sweaty skin, ripped buttons, arching backs, and heady moans. Eleanor never thought to stop, even as she positioned her body on top of his, legs straddling his waist, his hands on her thighs. She held his hand at the perfect angle, sliding her tongue along his lower lips, before she deepened the kiss yet again. In response, his hips pushed upward against hers, his fingers digging into her skin.

Eleanor wasn't certain how long she kissed him for, only that when she finally tugged back to look at him, her lips felt swollen and she was very conscious of the fact that her shirt was half open, revealing white flesh and a lacy bra. Rabastan continued to lie there, his eyes closed, breathing heavily. His hand moved to her hip, though, holding her against him, as if he knew she was thinking of running away.

"Eleanor," he said, eyes still closed.

"I-"

"Don't-just don't leave. We need to-"

"I can't - this was the. I shouldn't have -"

"Sh, please. I just need to think for a second."

Eleanor didn't give him time to think, though. Instead she adjusted her body to stand up, trying to quickly straighten what was left of her clothes while simultaneously finding the remaining pieces of her dignity. When she looked back, Rabastan's eyes were open, watching her, as he clearly tried to gather his wits quickly enough to stop her. Eleanor was faster, though, stepping away just before his hand reached out to snatch her ankle.

"Stop it, I just want to talk to you. Come here," Rabastan said, propping himself up on his elbows.

Eleanor simply shook her head again, trying to locate her bag. When Rabastan began to stand, she abandoned all hope of finding it and instead raced toward the doorway. Despite her head-start, Rabastan reached her just as she grabbed the door handle. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back against him. "Eleanor, please," he whispered, his lips practically touching her neck. It all felt like a trap, a _humiliating_ trap of hormones and lustful thoughts. Turning the door handle, she pulled it open roughly, pushing their bodies out of the way to let it swing freely. She looked at him one last time before lifting her foot and stomping it down upon his. His wince was instantaneous, as was the break in his hold, allowing her the opportunity to go running into the corridor. " _Eleanor,_ " he shouted, his voice echoing on the stones. She half expected to hear footsteps following her, but as she turned the corner and looked back, he was still standing there, in the doorway, watching her disappear.

* * *

 **Authors Note:** Hope you all are enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it. Thanks everyone for spending some time with my characters and getting to know them. Means a lot!


	9. different worlds

_"And we got caught in the storm_  
 _You started flying a kite_  
 _At the end was the key to my heart_  
 _You were my lover for life"_

From _American Money_ by Børns.

* * *

Rabastan continued to return to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom at their appointed time for the next three weeks; Eleanor never did. He continued to catch glimpses of her, a flash of dark hair around the corner, a small smile at supper, a laugh across the common room, her voice echoing down the staircase, however, she was clearly _hiding_ from him. One afternoon he happened to wander into the Potions classroom as her class was ending. When he moved toward her, hoping that they might finally have an opportunity to talk, he watched her _trip_ another student into his path so she could race to the door. After that, he stopped trying altogether.

Tonight, however, Eleanor wasn't going to be able to avoid him so easily.

It was the annual Lestrange Gala, or as Rabastan referred to it: the night from hell. Holidays were meant to be an excuse to sleep-in, order the house elf to prepare his favorite food, perhaps play Quidditch in the field, or finish the pile of books on his nightstand. Instead, he was wearing a stiff dress-robe and too-tight shoes while he stood to the side of the ballroom, attempting to snag a glass of champagne. Rodolphus was diagonal from him, chatting with Madeleina Nott, a stunning blonde in a far-too-revealing dress. He knew their conversation would be ending soon, though, since he saw Bellatrid stalking them from across the room.

"You'd make a marvelous spy."

"Why thank you, Augustus."

"Another marvelous party, you should thank your mother for me."

"How much firewhisky have you consumed?"

"A tad."

"Do you have any more?" Rabastan asked, turning his attention to his friend, who offered him a metal flask. Unscrewing the top, he took a nice long swig until his throat burned. Augustus took the flask back and pocketed it with a knowing grin.

"Rodolphus is going to end up with his balls in a vice tonight if he's not careful," Augustus said, nodding toward the lovers-quarrel that was about to begin between his brother and Bellatrix.

"Don't repeat this, but she's terrifying. I'm not quite certain why he's marrying her."

"Family obligation?"

"They wanted me to marry Andromeda, you know how well that turned out."

"And you still might have to marry her, my friend. Granted, Rodolphus has another year before the nuptials, plenty of time to get out of it."

"No chance, Augustus, he has no chance. He may as well be wearing the ring now. There is far too much history in that match for it to end now. Particularly since Andromeda is now conveniently dating a mudblood."

"You're fucking with me, a mudblood?" Augustus laughed, though it was slightly manic and disbelieving. "There's always Narcissa."

"Lucius-"

"And she's half in love with you."

"Bull shit," Rabastan said, eyes darting immediately to Augustus' face. "Why the hell would she be in love with me?"

"Oh, I don't know. Probably something along the lines of -" Augustus cleared his throat, then began to speak in his best Narcissa impression, "He's gorgeous and wealthy and smart and we'd make the most perfect babies. Just you wait and see." Rabastan didn't bother to respond, he simply lifted his hand and smacked it hard into Augustus' shoulder.

"I won't be waiting and I won't be-" Rabastan said, before he lost his train of thought and fell silent. There she was, _his girl_. No, _a girl_ , he reminded himself, all the while watching as she entered the ballroom. Eleanor's hair was down tonight, covering her bare shoulders. The garnet-colored dress cinched enticingly at the waist and Rabastan wished Augustus would just leave him with his lewd thoughts for a few moments.

"Mate, you're staring."

Rabastan didn't care and shook his head in response. After watching Eleanor greet his parents, he extended a hand to Augustus, gesturing for the flask. His friend handed it to him and he took another long sip, finishing off the rest of the liquor. He then handed the flask back with no apology.

"Eleanor Fairfax, really?" Augustus asked, tipping the flask upside down and shaking it, his expression clearly disappointed.

"Yes, really," Rabastan said, his voice sullen as he turned and looked away from her, back to his friend. "It's nothing, she just looks… nice tonight."

"Nice?"

"Beautiful, then. _Gorgeous_. My heart is bloody racing Augustus, are you actually going to tease me about this right now?"

"When the hell did this happen?"

"I've been tutoring her, you know. Well I was tutoring her. We kissed. It didn't end well."

"Did you sleep with her?"

" _No!_ Of course not. I think she got spooked, she's been avoiding me ever since."

"Well, my friend, I have the solution for you. It's simple and classic," he slapped a hand on Rabastan's shoulder and squeezed tightly. "Ask her to dance, _you bloody moron."_ Rabastan said nothing, instead watching as Wilkes walked straight up to Eleanor, half-bowed, and extended his arm. For a moment, Rabastan thought she'd turn him down, he could see her hesitation, but then she took his arm and turned toward the dancefloor. "There are other dances," Augustus said quietly.

"And which female are we currently studying with such interest?" A male voice said behind them. The tone was eerily gentle, almost lyrical, in a haunting way. Rabastan froze and slowly turned, his back stiff as he bowed forward, tucking an arm behind his back as he did so.

"Sir-My lord," Rabastan said, correcting himself quickly. The words still didn't roll off his tongue, not like they did for Bellatrix or Rodolphus, even Lucius.

"My lord," Augustus said, with just enough confidence to hide the trepidation in his eyes.

"I asked a simple question, Rookwood. Lestrange."

Rabastan didn't want to acknowledge who they were watching. Eleanor felt private, like a secret that shouldn't be shared. Bringing her to the attention of Voldemort felt sacrilege. Yet, the Dark Lord would know he was lying. "Eleanor Fairfax, my lord. In the red dress."

"She's quite lovely," he said, his voice softening, though it felt more sinister to Rabastan.

"Yes, my lord," Augustus responded.

"Is she your paramour, Lestrange?"

"No, no she's not."

"Alas, a shame for you, I imagine." He didn't seem to care. "Lestrange, I'd like a word," he said, while turning and moving gracefully toward the library, which was off a corridor to their left. Augustus looked at Rabastan with an almost jealous expression, but Rabastan was too concentrated on what the Dark Lord might need him for to care. Entering the library behind him, he noted that his father was not a present, a minor victory in what was most likely going to be a frustrating evening.

"How can I help, my lord?"

Voldemort turned, suddenly far taller and larger than he had appeared in public. He seemed to expand in the library, as if his power was stretching outward, being absorbed into the walls. Rabastan kept an ample distance between them, his arms behind his back, shoulders rigid. "You're one of my loyal followers, are you not?" He asked, stepping toward Rabastan, his hand outstretched. For a moment, Rabastan thought he was going to touch his cheek, but the Dark Lord simply paused and rested his hand an inch from his face. He lingered there for a moment, staring at Rabastan, before spinning toward the fireplace.

"Yes, of course."

"Your brother and his future wife have been my enigmatic spokespeople at Hogwarts for the past year, but their time to join formally is almost upon us. With their departure from those hallowed halls, I need another of my closest followers to recruit members to my ranks."

"Recruit for you, my lord?

"Lestrange," he paused, turning to face him, "never mistake my decision to include you at such a young age with complacency. Your father was a school-friend of mine, your brother has proven himself worthy, I hope you'll do the same. So, I caution you, do not begin our conversation with such insolent questions."

"My lord, I didn't intend to be-"

Voldemort waved his hand, a clear message to be silent. Rabastan's mouth fell shut, his head bowing forward of it's own accord. "I need you to recruit new members to our ranks, yes. I need you to scour the halls of Hogwarts finding only the most loyal to our cause, those willing to risk everything without so much as a whisper of doubt."

"Yes, my lord."

"And since I'm in the festive mood, I'll remind you now, that secrecy is paramount. Your brother developed a system to vet out potential recruits, speak with him regarding the details."

"Yes, my lord."

"Now, tell me about your friend, Lestrange."

"Rookwood? You-"

" _Not_ Rookwood. Miss Fairfax. I'm most curious to understand how this young lady caught your eye."

"I'm tutoring her, my lord. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, at Slughorn's behest. She's-she's quite adept, but needed to have more experience with the curses."

"Ah, so you're teaching her the Dark Arts."

Rabastan hesitated, not due to any particular issue with performing or teaching the Dark Arts, but because he knew his answer would only draw more attention to Eleanor. The glint in Voldemort's eye was disarming, a curious look that almost reminded him of Dumbledore's twinkle; both saw beneath the innocent facade of young men and women. "Yes, my lord."

"I would be quite interested to meet this young lady friend of yours." Rabastan felt his heart fall while his lungs clenched. "Any woman that may potentially marry into one of the sacred families should be... analyzed."

"Yes, my lord," he said, deciding not to point out that Eleanor wasn't going to marry him.

"That is all," he said dismissively, turning to a bookshelf and plucking off one of his father's notebooks. "Send in Rookwood."

Rabastan didn't respond, simply bowed low and backed away out the door. He shut it quietly, relishing in his ability to breath again. His heart, though, still felt as if it'd plummeted to the floor and was currently being kicked with every step he took toward Augustus. "He wants to speak with you," Rabastan said, nodding toward the library.

"You look ill," Augustus said.

"I _feel_ ill. Just go, he's waiting."

"Ask her to dance, my friend. She's over on the left side with Narcissa. Just _ask her_ , for me, if nothing else."

"Why would I ask her for you?"

"Because I would hate to have to continually ridicule you for this idiotic decision the rest of your life." Augustus didn't wait for a response, instead practically running to the library, well aware that the Dark Lord did not appreciate waiting.

After his friend disappeared down the corridor, Rabastan turned back to the ballroom. He spotted Eleanor almost immediately, though he doubted anyone could miss her in that dress. The rather indecent thoughts from earlier came flooding back to his mind, a welcome distraction as he shook off the goosebumps from his meeting with Lord Voldemort, and he shoved his hands into his pockets to try to hide the evidence of his lust. Eleanor was standing alone now, though Narcissa was beside her, engaged in a conversation with Lucius.

Rabastan watched her intently, trying to ignore his subconscious, which was telling him to go upstairs to his bedroom and tend to his needs, his imagination filled with images of Eleanor sprawled across his sheets, the dress strewn onto the floor, her arms above her head, letting him savor every inch of soft, white flesh. Tucking the image into his mind for later, he frowned slightly at the look on her face. Surrounded by friends, music, food, drink, laughter, Eleanor looked _sad_. Her eyes were dull and staring down at the ground, her arms were crossed over her stomach, as if she were feeling sick, and her were shoulders hunched forward in clear discomfort.

Only after he was halfway across the ballroom did Rabastan realize he'd started walking toward her. Despite his sudden self-consciousness as all eyes turned to him, he kept moving until he was in front of her. "You look beautiful," he said, deciding it was better to jump past any standard greetings.

Eleanor looked up at him and he didn't miss the surprise that flickered across her face. It disappeared quickly, though, replaced with a cool, detached expression. "What are you doing?"

"Complimenting you."

"Why?"

"Eleanor, it's a compliment. Just say thank you and accept it."

"Thank you," she said, though he could tell there wasn't any meaning behind the words.

"Dance with me."

"You certainly like giving me commands, don't you? Eleanor sit, Eleanor stay, Eleanor come here."

"Dance with me, please," Rabastan said, extending his arm and bowing. He could feel eyes on his back, knew that mothers and daughters alike were studying his decision to dance with Eleanor. Even Narcissa was staring at them, to Lucius' clear displeasure, her mouth slightly agape. Eleanor's eyes darted around, taking in the sudden attention nervously. She was hesitating, but he sensed her walls were crumbling.

"Fine," she eventually said, taking his arm. He led them out onto the dance floor and spun her around, placing his hand on her waist as he awaited the start of the next song. Her hand found his shoulder, resting lightly on his dress robe, while their other hands clasped together. Rabastan kept his grip loose, though as the waltz began, he squeezed her fingers reassuringly.

They didn't speak for the first thirty-seconds of the dance. Rabastan simply concentrated on the music and directing their bodies through the other dancers. "Why won't you talk to me?" he asked.

"Is that why you asked me to dance? So you could talk to me about our last encounter?"

"No, it's not. That doesn't mean I don't want to, though."

"What is so difficult to understand about it?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm confused. We kissed, Eleanor. It was a damn good kiss, but you raced off as if I were trying to kill you."

Eleanor closed her eyes and Rabastan felt his heart plummet yet again, this time for an entirely different reason. Her face was serene and her trust in him was clear, he just didn't think he deserved it. "I was - I _am_ embarrassed."

"You're embarrassed?" She nodded and finally looked at him again. "Why?"

"Not only was it my faulty curse that practically killed us, I'm the idiot-girl that _kissed_ you. You don't just kiss Rabastan Lestrange. Not girls like me. You're-you're like Darcy and I'm bloody Elizabeth Bennet."

"Excuse me, who?"

"Nevermind. You should be kissing girls like Narcissa, not me."

The waltz was still going in full force, except Rabastan wasn't interested in continuing this conversation at the center of a ballroom. Spinning Eleanor into his chest, he placed a hand on her waist and silently led her through the pack of wolves watching them into an empty corridor. They walked a few yards before turning left, then right, eventually entering the solarium, a wall-to-wall glass room that overlooked the rose garden. While his mother generally spent the mornings here, enjoying the eastern sun, tonight the room was filled with moonlight, casting an ethereal glow over them both.

"I don't want to kiss girls like Narcissa," Rabastan finally said, in answer to her question. Eleanor seemed confused for a second, though he didn't give her much time to think before pulling her body up against his, tilting his head, and kissing her. Eleanor's reaction was instantaneous, one arm sliding around his waist, the other his neck, her mouth opening slightly - an invitation. Taking a few steps forward, he had her pressed up against the glass wall, her back arching as he leaned against her chest. His hands wandered lower, cupping her bottom and pulling her hips up into his. Eleanor's hand was now under his shirt, grazing her fingernails along his back, leaving inevitable scratches in her wake. Her other hand was in his hair, using it as leverage to deepen the already intoxicating kiss.

This time, neither of them pulled away from the kiss, it ended organically due to their unfortunate need for oxygen. Rabastan continued to hold her after they stopped, his forehead resting against hers. For the first minute, they simply caught their breath. Finally, though, he pulled back and looked down at her, appreciating the flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and half-smile.

"I want to be your tutor still," he said softly, whispering despite being alone.

"Even after I nearly killed us?"

"I had everything under control. Have some faith in me."

"I do, you know I do."

They both went silent, the weight of their current situation a bit too heavy. Their disappearance would hardly go unnoticed, he knew, and the longer they were sequestered, the more the gossip would increase. If he was lucky, his parents might remain happily oblivious, yet he doubted the matching-making mothers who watched him lead Eleanor to a private room would be eager to keep his secret. At times, Rabastan could tell this societal obsession with marriage wasn't normal, that in another world he wouldn't have families lining up, trying to convince his parents that their daughter was the perfect match for him. Nowadays, he almost looked back wistfully on the years when Andromeda was his assumed-betrothed, at least then he'd held a modicum of freedom.

Rabastan came back to the present when Eleanor's hand touched his cheek. Looking down at her, he tried not to show where his thoughts were, instead gently nudging her forehead with his own. Eleanor didn't deserve the scrutiny that would come with this. Taking her away from the party was already tantamount to a declaration of affection and he knew his parents wouldn't approve. There was pureblood and then there was _Lestrange_ pureblood. He and Eleanor weren't from the same world, not truly.

"What are we going to do now?" Eleanor asked, her thumb drawing small circles on his skin. Her eyes darted around his face, a bit quizzical, clearly concerned.

"I don't know, I honestly don't know." He suddenly felt so very young, too young to handle any of this. "I suppose we go back to the party."

"You know that wasn't what I meant."

Rabastan sighed and lifted his hand, placing it over her's. He entwined their fingers and moved her hand away from his cheek, down to her side. Instead of speak, he moved closer to her and pressed his lips to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek, followed by the warm nook where her shoulder met her neck. He stayed there, burrowing his face into her skin, which smelled of lilac and vanilla, wishing he could somehow hide from all of this: the matchmakers, his father, the Dark Lord, the fact that a simple kiss wasn't so simple. Eventually, reluctantly, he took took a full step backward, away from her, the room suddenly very cold now that their bodies weren't touching.

"I'll see you at Bastian's classroom at 7 o'clock next Wednesday." It wasn't an answer to her question, not really, but it was a next step. "And be on time," he said, his tease rewarded with a small smile.

"I won't be late," she said, looking at the empty space between them as if it were as wide as the Thames. Eleanor didn't wait long before turning and walking past him, back to the party. This was their world, Rabastan reminded himself, as he followed shortly after her, they didn't have a choice in the matter.


	10. like father, like son

_"I go walking seaside, hear the music of the ocean_  
 _Swimming through the wreckage of my mind in the deepest of emotions"_

From _Fool_ by Børns.

* * *

"I'm bloody bored," Rodolphus said, his legs thrown up over the edge of the couch in the common room.

"Go make out with your future wife, that ought to distract you," Rabastan responded, chuckling to himself.

"Fuck you."

"No honestly, I'm sure she'd love a surprise visit. You can charm your way under her skirt."

"Again, fuck you."

"Shouldn't you be studying for your N.E. ?"

"You go from Bellatrix to studying? Do you have a death wish for me?"

"You can't die from boredom."

"I'm getting damn close," Rodolphus said, shooting sparks up into the air with his wand and watching them explode, like fireworks. The common room was nearly empty, save for a few first years off to the side scribbling on parchment frantically. Eleanor was in the library (though Rabastan would never admit he was beginning to memorize her schedule), and Augustus was serving a rather deserved detention after being caught with a Ravenclaw in the broom cupboard.

"Well, if you have any ideas, I'm game," Rabastan finally said, growing weary of watching the rain fall outside. He half considered finding Eleanor and dragging her into an empty classroom for some extra "tutoring," but they'd made an agreement to keep whatever-this-was (a half-relationship, as he thought of it) a secret. It was safer this way and also granted them far more privacy than if they announced to the world they were snogging and groping every Wednesday evening in Bastian's classroom. Alecto was peeved at him, he knew that much, but he'd let her down gently with the 'it's me, not you' line that he'd learned from Augustus. Unfortunately, Alecto was currently in the library with Eleanor, so even if he'd wanted to snag his sort-of-girlfriend from the stacks, it'd be public knowledge by morning. Leaving only his brother for company.

"I do, c'mon," Rodolphus said suddenly, snapping to an upright position.

"What is it?" Rabastan asked warily, watching as his brother stood and straightened his school uniform. Rodolphus didn't answer, he simply glared and walked toward the common room exit. It didn't take him long to follow.

"I knew you were bored," Rodolphus said in a whisper, glancing back at him as they walked down the empty corridor. It was nearly curfew, which meant a few students here or there were trudging back to their dormitories, red-eyed and half-blind after reading tiny font by candlelight. The Lestrange brothers greeted a few individuals, but ignored most, and after a few hallways, they turned away from the main staircase.

"Where the hell are you leading us?" Rabastan asked.

"You'll see."

"I don't want to _see_ , I want to _know_."

"What, thinking about skipping out on me to see your girlfriend, are you?"

"Excuse me?"

Rodolphus paused at that, spinning around to look at his brother straight-on. "Don't think I didn't notice the minute you dumped Alecto for _Eleanor Fairfax_. I'm not an idiot and you two are the worst at keeping a secret. It's a bloody miracle that the rest of the school doesn't know of your little love-affair. What are you playing at Rabastan?"

"I'm not _playing_ at anything."

"Then stop fucking around with her."

"You know what, fuck you Rodolphus."

"Oh what, you _like_ her? Is that it? Do you pine for her? Does your heart flutter when you see her, do you think about her smile every night as you fall asleep, do you imagine what it'd be like to _marry_ her?" Despite the placid expression on Rodolphus' face, his voice was escalating with each word and each one was steeped in sarcasm. "Get that nonsense out of your head right now, brother. Snog her if you want to, shag her if you must, but you're a bloody _Lestrange_. It's about time you start acting like you understand your position in the world and the responsibilities that come along with it."

At some point or another over the course of the last sixteen-years, Rabastan had heard this lecture before, just never from Rodolphus. Since childhood, he'd looked up to his brother with an almost unconditional admiration. Watching him now, shadowed by the lamplight, somehow taller than he had been before Christmas, with a narrowed glint in his eye, he looked precisely like their father. It wasn't the first time he'd thought it, this was just the first time Rodolphus had acted like it. Rabastan wanted to defend himself, defend Eleanor, yet when he opened his mouth, barely a squeak came out. He felt betrayed, above all else. This wasn't his brother, it was some distorted shadow of him.

Betrayal soon turned to something more bitter tasting. Rabastan clenched his fists, trying to ignore the acid burning his stomach and the pulses of adrenaline that shook his arms. What drove the last sane thought from his mind, though, was the fact that none of his anger was about Eleanor. Rodolphus was right, they weren't meant to be together, he'd thought the very same thing himself. She _was_ beneath him.

With that awful reminder. Rabastan rushed toward Rodolphus, slamming his right fist into his brother's face, which sent him stumbling backward into the stone wall. He continued forward, punching him once more, this time sending his brother to the floor with a thud. Rodolphus didn't stay down for long, kneeling upward and standing within a blink of an eye. He lunged himself at Rabastan, throwing his arms around his waist until they were both on the cobble stone floor. Rodolphus had the upper angle and threw a rough punch straight into Rabastan's nose, which crunched painfully. The second punch was into Rabastan's cheek, followed quickly by a third and fourth.

"Fuck you," Rabastan half-shouted, blood dripping down from his nose. Lifting his arm, he attempted to shove a knee into his brother's stomach to gain leverage, but Rodolphus was too heavy and he was unable to flip them over. He did manage, however, to slam a left-hook into his brother's jaw, which sent arching backward.

"There you go, brother, there you go," Rodolphus said, laughing hysterically as he wiped away the blood from his mouth. Rabastan was ready to wipe the _smile_ away from his brother's face when Rodolphus' head snapped to the left, his eyes narrowing almost ferally. Before Rabastan could spit out the blood pooling in his mouth, Rodolphus' wand was out and he'd cast a spell around the nearest corner. There was a thud followed closely by a dragging sound, as Rodolphus used a spell to half-levitate a body toward them.

When the dragging stopped, Rodolphus stood up and looked down at the body, his grin terrifying, particularly since his teeth were covered in blood. "Look what we have here," he said, his food nudging the person's face. Rabastan sat upward, ignoring the spinning sensation, to see who it was.

"Who the hell is that?" Rabastan asked, looking at his brother with confusion. It was a young man, perhaps a second-year, but no older. His hair was a putrid red-color, though not nearly vibrant enough to be a bothersome Weasley. Combined with the Hufflepuff colors on his tie, he was a rather unfortunate looking boy and Rabastan only felt pity for him, especially as he realized he was still half-conscious.

"No bloody clue. But this evening is far more exciting than it was thirty minutes ago."

"What are you -"

His brother didn't even hesitate before sending another spell at the young boy. Rodolphus' face was so impassive, though, Rabastan thought he was simply trying to levitate the body again, until he heard a muffled " _Crucio"_ and the boy began to _scream._

It was a shrill, high-pitched scream that quickly echoed down the hall. Rabastan didn't have a second to consider options before sending out a silencing charm, which wrapped around them like a blanket. Rodolphus didn't stop for over a minute, the screams intensifying with each second, the boy writhing at their feet. Rabastan simply watched, entranced by the way his limbs seemed disconnected from his body. Eventually Rodolphus ended his cruciatus curse, though he seemed disappointed when the sound of the boy's shrieks died and he rolled into the fetal position.

Despite the risk that a professor could be headed their direction, both of them simply stood there, side by side, watching the boy twitch with residual shudders of pain. Rabastan was particularly keen on watching the boy's face, which still held the shadows of his screams.

"Your turn," Rodolphus said, his whispered voice grating after the screams.

Rabastan didn't respond, he did however remove his wand from his pocket. Twirling it in his hand, he ran his fingers up and down the wood, studying the familiar bumps along the edge. Blood was still dripping down his face, though the source was unclear. He didn't feel any of the pain, even as his face swelled from the punches. All he could concentrate on were the tears rolling down the young boy's face, soaking into the collar of his shirt.

"Brother -"

Rabastan didn't immediately react to Rodolphus' prodding. This wasn't something that could be rushed, it was a curse that needed to _mean_ something. Straightening his back, he tightened his grip on his wand, ignoring his sweaty palms. He began to catalog in his mind every incident, every degrading comment his father made, every time he felt less than worthy to be Lestrange, every moment he hated Eleanor for being beneath him, every moment he loved her for the same thing, every word his brother said just a few minutes ago. Licking his lips, he tasted blood and it was with that last thought he said, " _Crucio."_

He didn't even hear the screams this time, too concentrated on the thin, invisible line between his wand and the boy's chest. Any concern he had of not being able to cast the curse, of failing his legacy as a Lestrange, was cast out in a wave of relief. Unfortunately for this young Hufflepuff, the relief went straight back into his curse. It continued for what felt like hours, until he felt a hand on his arm.

"Stop - _Stop,_ " Rodolphus said while grabbing Rabastan's arm and forcing his wand up, ending the curse. The boy was whimpering now. He'd sweated through his uniform and there were scratches along his cheeks from where his face rubbed against the stone floor. Down the hallway, Rabastan could hear hurried footsteps, clearly racing to the assistance of the injured student. Rodolphus didn't bother to say anything, he simply grabbed Rabastan by the arm and dragged him down the corridor, toward the common room. For a fleeting moment, the footsteps seemed to follow them, but it seemed the young-boy's saviors were more concerned with assisting him to the hospital wing than chasing down the culprits.

"What if he saw us?" Rabastan breathed, heart thudding as they skidded to a halt in front of the entrance.

"He didn't. I'm not an idiot," Rodolphus said, looking at him with an intensity he wasn't accustomed to. "I graduate in one month, Rabastan. And then the legacy is up to you, the responsibilities up to you, the recruiting is up to you. It's time for you to live up to the Lestrange name, do you understand?"

Rabastan only stared at him, eyes narrowed, as the portrait swung open to reveal the common room. He wanted to deny his brother the satisfaction of hearing his answer; he wanted to deny any responsibility for upholding the family name. But this was his brother, his truest friend. "Yes, I understand," he said, voice barely audible. He turned immediately and walked into the common room, heading straight for the stairs to his dormitory. With his mind distracted, he didn't notice Eleanor sitting on the couch, not until she cleared her throat. He paused at the sound, turning to look at her. It didn't take him long to remember his bruised face, the dried blood, his almost crazed expression. He didn't say anything to her, he simply turned and continued up the stairs, completely uncaring.


	11. a little seduction

" _We carved our love in the mountainside_

 _We soaked our hearts in the rain_

 _And I, waited my life, for you-"_

From _American Money_ by Børns.

* * *

Exams arrived quite suddenly. One night Eleanor went to bed with plenty of time left to study, then without warning, she woke up one day and the exams were upon them. For the last three weeks, she'd spent every waking moment cloistered in the back of the library, buried in the stacks where nobody could find her. The nervous energy from the 5th years was pervasive, forcing even a few first years to visit the Hospital Wing with anxiety and insomnia. While Eleanor never went to see Madame Pomfrey, she did break at least a dozen quills and her nails were practically chewed off by the time exams started.

When Eleanor walked into the Great Hall on the first day of exams, she was overwhelmed with nerves, which twisted her stomach until she almost was sick over the floor. Even when she reminded herself that Charms was her best subject, that if there was one subject where her 'O' was almost guaranteed it was Charms, the sickness only abated long enough for her to barely concentrate on the instructions from the proctors. She sat there, clutching her quills, while glancing nervously at her classmates. In an effort to ease her nerves, she started counting back from 100, waiting impatiently for the written portion to be placed in front of her.

Once it was, Eleanor nearly fainted at the swell of nervous adrenaline. Hands sweating, heart racing, mind thudding, she flipped the exam over when instructed and began furiously scribbling her answers in what she hoped was English. The practical exam later that afternoon was far easier for Eleanor. Levitate this, grow that, change the color of this; at least she could harness her nervous energy into the spells, rather than trying to contain it behind a desk. Feeling relieved to be done with her first exam, she left the great hall clutching her massive quantity of quills with a smile. All the students were streaming out together, most continuing on the library to study for their Transfiguration Exam tomorrow. While Eleanor would follow them, she paused, hoping to catch Dorcas to see how her practical exam went.

"Eleanor -" With a sharp intake of breath, Eleanor spun around, looking almost frightened. In that moment, she nearly ran down the hallway to escape - anything to not be face-to-face with Rabastan. Since that night she saw him return to the common room battered, bruised, and bleeding, he'd been unusually distant. While they continued to meet at their regular time for tutoring, their sessions were focused solely on the lesson at hand. He never touched her again, not even to demonstrate a proper wand movement. To top it off, he began to sit across the classroom, speaking only when it was necessary, otherwise staring down at the floor as if fascinated by a crack on the stone. Despite reminding herself that they weren't _dating_ and he owed her nothing, Eleanor couldn't help but admit that she was hurt.

"What do you want?" She asked.

"I'm-I wanted to make sure you knew we were going to still meet Wednesday. I wanted to give you a few tips before your exam."

"Isn't that what you were supposed to be doing this whole time? Not snogging me against a back table."

"Eleanor, you know that's not - you know I never meant -"

"Just stop it. I don't want to hear whatever you have to say. You've been _quite_ clear about all of this."

Rabastan went silent, looking at her with half-closed eyes. He took in a deep breath and pressed his lips together until they disappeared into a thin line. "Wednesday?" He finally asked, whispering even softer now.

"Fine, Wednesday," she responded, with more confidence than she felt, before turning to the left and joining a group of students headed to the library.

Later that night when she recounted the conversation to Dorcas, she called him rude, crass, and a slew of other names that weren't complimentary. Eleanor's first reaction was to try and defend him, but even she couldn't muster up a valid reason for his behavior. He'd gone from hot to cold faster than she could turn a faucet. Half of her wished she could ask Narcissa, but as her friend was completely in the dark regarding this strange, half-relationship, it didn't seem the best time to bring it up.

Wednesday evening came quickly. Eleanor left supper at her usual time and started the familiar trek to Bastian's office. The hallways were more quiet than usual, given the remaining week and a half of exams. The N.E.W.T students were also studying in full force, giving the entire castle an almost eerie quality. Eleanor didn't pause at Bastian's door, her normal nerves and anxiety completed evaporated. Every week, she'd arrived with flutters in her stomach-not this week. Whatever confidence she'd pretended to have the other afternoon was now real. He was just a man, a boy even, that hadn't treated her well at all. But she needed an adequate score in Defense Against the Dark Arts and it seemed Rabastan Lestrange was her best chance.

"Glad to see your ability to be on time hasn't changed," Rabastan said while leaning up against the back wall, like he did every week.

"Don't try to be charming. You said you have some secret about the exam?"

"I wasn't trying to be charming."

"I'm not here to chit-chat then, what's the secret? I have other subjects I need to study for."

"Come here, just come here," he said, moving to the front of the classroom and pushing back a desk as he went.

"I hate when you do that, like I'm at your beck and call." Eleanor moved to the front of the classroom regardless, pausing next to him and looking at him expectantly, though with a good amount of sass.

"Expulso, it's the last curse we need to review."

"I thought you were going to share some top-secret way to pass my exams, not another curse."

"We'll get there, I promise, but I want you to know how to do this. There's a counter-curse that you can use and I know it was on our exam last year."

"So it most likely won't be on our exam this year."

"Are you willing to take that bet?" Rabastan asked, lifting an eyebrow, before reaching forward and twirling her around forcefully. "Now, the wand movement is a circle; a perfect circle." He took a step to the side and moved his hand in a circle and said, quite confidently: " _Expulso."_ A blue streak of light shot out of his wand and straight into the table, sending it slamming into the wall behind them. It shattered almost instantly, but without hesitating, Rabastan moved his arm and the pieces began to put themselves back together. Eleanor didn't say it, but she _was_ impressed.

"Alright, I have it. Circle, spell, blue light, breaks things." Eleanor practically rolled her eyes at him, stepping in front of him and facing the table. Rabastan's gaze felt warm on the back of her neck, though he didn't move closer, not like he used to. Nothing was the same between them. She missed the little things, his smile, when he'd redirect her by placing a hand on her waist, how he brushed back her hair to kiss her neck, how even a small glance in the Great Hall would leave her grinning. She never gave her feelings for him much thought, there didn't seem to be a reason to define them, yet she was beginning to realize she might have been falling in love with him.

Tightening her grip on her wand, until her knuckles were white, she channeled every thought, every concern, every ounce of anger into her spell. With a flick of her wrist, she completed her circle and said, " _Expulso_." Her voice was barely a whisper, directly contradicting the forceful spell that shot out in a stream of blue light, which slammed straight into the table. The wood shattered against the stone wall, along with Bastian's mirror, which lay in shards on the ground a moment later.

For a second, Eleanor didn't move, but then slowly lowered her arm and looked back at him. "This is _your_ fault," she said, pointing her wand at him.

"Excuse me, _my_ fault?"

"Yes, all of this. It's your fault, Rabastan Lestrange, because you are an _arse._ "

"Oh we're back to the name-calling now are we? I thought we'd moved past this."

"Well I thought we had to, but I guess I was mistaken. Tell me, what else was I mistaken about?"

"What are you even talking about? You're making absolutely no sense at all."

"You haven't been making sense for _weeks_."

"Eleanor-"

"No, no. You don't get to interrupt me and pretend like this is all in my head. You don't get to order me around like a bloody dog. Did you think I have no feelings? That this wouldn't matter to me? That you'd just disappear and I'd go on like you'd never come in and turned my entire life upside down?"

"Eleanor, that's not what I was trying-"

"What do you _want_ from me?" Eleanor asked, stalking toward him with her wand still outstretched and pointed at him. She didn't stop until she placed a hand on his shoulder and shoved him backward. He seemed shocked when he stumbled, his back colliding with the stone wall. "Tell me what you want from me."

"I'll tell you when you stop pointing a wand at my face," he said calmly, as if this was all quite normal.

Eleanor hesitated only briefly before tossing her wand to the side, reaching up, clasping his face, and tugging him down into a kiss. As soon as their lips touched, he froze, shoulders tightening, arms ramrod straight against his side. His response bordered on timid, almost cold. Eventually he moved his hands to her waist, but they rested chastely on her hips. Eleanor pressed her body up against his, hoping to elicit some kind of response, but he only stood there, his lips soft and pliant, but completely uninterested.

All Eleanor wanted was a reaction from him. Even if it was negative, she could close the chapter on this half-relationship and try to put Rabastan Lestrange behind her. His passivity, which was impossible to interpret, was driving her mad, and she'd had just about enough of it. Removing her hands from his cheeks, she pressed them against his chest, pressing him back up against the wall with clear intention. Eleanor then moved her hands lower, grabbing the waistband of his pants and tugging his hips forward until they were against her own. At that, Rabastan twitched, but did nothing.

Only when she reached down and began to unbutton his trousers did Rabastan begin to wake up, his back straightening while his grip tightened on her hips. Without any hesitation, Eleanor slipped her hand into the front of his pants and massaged her hand against him. Rabastan gasped and shuffled his feet, clearly attempting to extricate himself from his current position. With his back pressed against the wall, though, his escape routes were limited and Eleanor controlled the situation. Using this to her advantage, she moved her lips down to his neck, grazing her teeth along the soft skin beneath his ear, before licking her tongue along his pulse point. Feeling increasingly daring, she pushed aside his underwear and wrapped her hand confidently around him.

Their roles reversed immediately. Rabastan wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground, carrying her backward until they collided with one of the tables. Hoisting Eleanor upward, he positioned her back on the table and crawled over her with one movement. His fingers moved to the buttons of her shirt, but fumbled with them. Frustrated, he began to tug at the fabric, until she heard and felt the buttons ripping off. He didn't stop until his cool hand rested on her lower stomach, pressing down firmly. While the gesture wasn't overtly intimate, Eleanor's stomach flipped at the sensation and her back arched up against his hand.

Rabastan lowered his mouth to her chest, kissing along her collarbone before moving to her ribcage. His lips were warm and gentle as they grazed her skin, his nose nuzzling up against the underwire of her bra, as if wishing it were magically gone. For a minute, Eleanor was too distracted by his own touches to remember her hand was still wrapped around him. A bit hesitant at first, she began to move her hand slowly, sliding it against him in an almost exploratory way. Her movements were not experienced or bold, instead they were tentative and earnest. Rabastan matched her intentions, though, as reached underneath her body and unhooked her bra. He didn't remove it all the way, clearly unwilling to remove her hand, but pushed it up and out of the way. Lowering his mouth again, he pressed a kiss to the underside of her breast, before sliding his tongue up, circling her nipple.

Eleanor's hand tightened around him with a groan, her body covered in goosebumps, heart racing. Despite her initial confidence, now that he was lying on top of her, his desire clear, she wasn't certain what her next move should be. Seduction was one thing, the follow-through was entirely different. In the last few months, she'd certainly considered what it would be like to shag him. In her daydreams, though, it never happened in Bastian's office, the night before exams. It wasn't that she'd imagined a whirlwind romantic evening, with flowers, chocolates, and mood-music (which she was quite certain was Narcissa's dream), but this felt impersonal and not like _them._

Both fortunately, and unfortunately, she never got to the point where she needed to decide on step two. With a groan that sent shivers down her spine, Rabstan grazed his teeth along her ribcage before sitting upward. He stared down at her for what felt like an hour, his eyes combing over her body with clear lust and apprehension. Eleanor thought he looked terrified, his eyes a bit wide and his breathing shallow. Suddenly, though, he reached down and grabbed her wrist, his fingers tight and almost painful. Carefully, he pulled her hand out of his trousers, resting it on her stomach. As soon as their bodies were disconnected, he lifted his leg and moved off her, trying to hide his erection as he began to button his pants back up. He didn't say a word to her the entire time he fixed his clothing, nor did he bother to say anything as he grabbed his bag and began toward the door.

"Rabastan," Eleanor said, sitting upright, suddenly very conscious of her bare chest.

He didn't stop at his name, instead pushing the door open and shutting it firmly behind him. For at least a minute, Eleanor sat there, staring at the door, trying to get her bearings. Eventually the cold castle air disrupted her thoughts, reminding her that Professor Bastian could return any minute and find her shirtless on a table. After adjusting her bra back into place, she was forced to use a quick-stitch-spell to sew herself back into the shirt. Completely uncaring that she was leaving Bastian's office in such a state, she grabbed her bag, found her wand, and high-tailed it back to the common room, even more confused about the state of her relationship with Rabastan.

* * *

 **Authors Note:** Apologies for the long delays between the last chapter and this one. Thankfully the characters have finally decided their next steps and I will hopefully be updating on a regular cadence again.


	12. lingering mistakes

_"And I'm craving your taste under my tongue everyday_  
 _Keep the forbidden fruit coming my way"_

From _Dopamine_ by Børns _._

* * *

Rabastan turned seventeen only days after Rodolphus graduated from Hogwarts. Except for the ceremonial gift of a watch (which his father bestowed upon him with barely even a glance), his birthday passed without notice. Besides his ability to now apparate to and from the numerous graduation parties held in his brother's honor, he felt quite the same. There was a certain finiteness to this summer break, though, coupled with a feeling of impending doom that came with the pressure of studying for his NEWTs.

Life became quite routine for Rabastan. Each morning he went for a walk through the estate, followed by a review of Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions. Lunch was a mandatory break, or so his mother insisted, which normally lasted far longer than he wanted it to. Afternoons he continued his studies with Defense Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic. Rodolphus insisted he was absolutely out-of-his-mind to take so many N.E.W.T. level classes, to which Rabastan kindly reminded him that the second-son was required to actually _find_ a career upon graduating. Rodolphus, on the other hand, was quite content lounging about the house, pretending to learn how to manage the estate.

Then every night, following another tense meal where his father barely spoke a word to him, he would retire to his room, sit at his desk, and _try_ to write another letter to Eleanor. And every single time, he would manage to write her name across the parchment and nothing else. The words he wanted to say, the apologies he wanted to make, were jumbled in his mind. Eleanor deserved an explanation for why he ran out on her that night (and subsequently avoided her for every day after that). The problem was, he didn't want to explain.

Or perhaps he just didn't know how to.

By the middle of July, he knew it was too late to send a letter, though that didn't stop him from trying. Bent over his desk one evening, scribbling yet another greeting to the girl who consumed his mind, he heard his bedroom door swing open with a squeak. "What do you want, Rod?" Rabastan asked, crumpling up another sheet of parchment and tossing it into the garbage.

"You're not studying?" He asked while sitting on the bed, which groaned under his weight.

"No, trying to write a letter. What do you want?"

"Headed over to the Malfoys -"

"What, going to see Bellatrix there? She let you into her knickers yet?"

"What would you know about women's knickers, hm?"

"More than you, apparently. Has mother finished planning the wedding, yet?"

"Christmas or New Years, she says." Rodolphus shrugged at that, then flopped backward.

"Congratulations," Rabastan said with a chuckle, as he placed down his quill and turned to look at his brother, who was using his wand to levitate a book.

"Who are you writing?"

"Augustus."

"He's probably over at the Malfoy Manor, we could just go visit. Writing him a letter makes it seem like you have a _crush_ on him. Do you?"

"No, stop it. It's business related."

"Business? I still think it's that silly girl. Don't make me rustle through your garbage to find out." At that, Rabastan shot a spell out, which ignited the half-completed letters inside the waste bin. He put out the fire once the letters were just little scraps of burnt paper. "Yes, it's definitely _her_. I thought you broke it off with her after our last conversation."

"It's not Eleanor and it's also none of your busin-" He stopped at that and glanced down at his forearm, which began to burn. At first it was a simple tingle, nothing more than a tickle, which slowly became stronger, until he swore the skin on his arm would melt away. Ripping up the sleeve of his shirt, he saw the dark-mark moving across his skin.

"Damn," Rodolphus said, his arm up in the air, looking at the same mark on his skin. "I suppose I'll just see Lucius there. You coming?"

Rabastan nodded, glancing almost mournfully at the parchment paper. Another night with no letter, another night that Eleanor was most likely cursing his name. Standing, he grabbed his black robe off the armchair in the corner and wrapped it around his shoulders. He waited until his brother disapparated, then put on his mask and followed-suit.

They weren't the first to arrive, nor the last, which was acceptable to Rabastan. Recently, they'd been meeting at an abandoned castle, just north of Newcastle. Rumor had it the castle used to belong to one of the Hogwarts founders, though nothing could be corroborated. Rabastan found it cold and stark, particularly since the Dark Lord refused to light any fires. Taking his place in the circle, he glanced to his right where he knew Rodolphus stood. Augustus was also there, though he was across the room standing beside Bellatrix, who looked a bit crazed, as per usual. Lucius was beside her, his blond hair looking nearly white against the robes. Rabastan stopped looking around after that, staring down at the floor in a near bow.

"My faithful followers -" The Dark Lord began, spinning in a circle to take in the number of bowed heads. Rabastan lowered his upper body, until he felt as if he might tip over. "You'll notice a number of our members are not with us tonight." A large section to the left was empty and all eyes darted in that direction. "They failed in their task tonight and were captured by Aurors."

"An insult to you, my Lord," Bellatrix said, the only one willing to speak up.

"It is beyond an insult," Voldemort interrupted, glowering at Bellatrix. "It's unacceptable." All the masked heads around the circle nodded quietly, almost eagerly, noting his seething anger and the way he moved manically within the circle. "Yet - Yet," he began, half-laughing as he stopped by the empty spot, "our evening is not ruined, we will still have our fun." With that, Voldemort flourished his wand, swiping it through the air. For a second, all eyes just watched him, waiting in anticipation, waiting for _something_ to happen. Then they all heard it, a scraping sound, as if something was being dragged across the floor. The longer it lasted, the louder it became, reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard, shrill and painful.

Rabastan knew what was next; they all knew what was next.

Around the corner came a lump of cloaks that could have, at one time, resembled a human body. Now, it was nothing more than a mangled pile of limbs trailing a thin layer of blood behind it. Only when the body stopped moving did Rabastan realize it was more than a corpse, it was a person, a _live_ person. Whoever it was, presumably one of the aurors, was clearly alive by sheer force of will. When Voldemort lifted the cloak off the body with the flick of his wand, it revealed a young man. Most of his face was scratched up from the stone floor, the skin peeled away from his cheeks, revealing the tissue beneath. Both arms were dislocated and hung at awkward angles across the floor, while one of his shin-bones was protruding through his skin.

"Alas, it appears the young man learned that it is not wise to be captured by Crabbe." A snicker passed through the crowd. "Many of you may recognize this man, he was once a student within those hallowed Hogwarts halls." Voldemort kneeled down beside the man, brushing back a lock of his dark hair, which was crusted with dried blood. Rabastan felt his stomach turn, flipping and tightening painfully, until he almost wanted to excuse himself to heave in the corner.

He did recognize the man, he'd been a Ravenclaw that used to study by the restricted section. He was a few years their senior and if Rabastan did the math correctly, he would have just graduated from the Auror Academy. He'd probably set out on his patrol that evening believing he was the harbinger of good in the battle against evil. Unfortunately, he'd been on the wrong side of the battle (or at least on the wrong side of Crabbe's wrath). It wasn't that he felt pity for the auror, he'd captured one of their own, which meant another pureblood rotting in Azkaban and for that, he deserved punishment, Rabastan simply prefered Crabbe to finish the deed alone, rather than be subjected to the conclusion now. There was only one way this story ended.

"Rabastan Lestrange-" His name snapped him from his revery, eyes darting away from the near-corpse, landing on the Dark Lord, who was now standing only a foot away from him. Before Rabastan could blink, his mask was wiped away form his face.

"Yes, my lord?"

"You had a birthday recently, did you not?"

"Yes - at the beginning of the summer, my lord."

"Seventeen, correct?" Rabastan barely nodded before the Dark Lord continued, "And yet, I don't believe we ever celebrated."

Rabastan turned his head, only briefly, to look at his brother. Rodolphus never glanced at him, yet he could sense his stiff shoulders and clenched jaw from where he stood. Bellatrix, on the other hand, merrily danced forward, stepping in front of Rabastan's line of sight.

"My lord, we must celebrate! Little baby Rabastan is finally free." She came up to him at that and patted his cheek, though it felt more like a slap.

"Yes, Bellatrix, yes," the Dark Lord said, clearly exasperated.

"My lord, I truly don't need -" Rabastan began, but stopped when the Dark Lord turned and looked at him. Despite, at first glance, looking like an ordinary man - hair, nose, arms, legs - one couldn't quite believe he was _human_ after looking at his eyes. If Rabastan had seen him on the street, he'd have wondered if they were glass eyes. There was a certain frozen element, icey, unmoving, a lack of emotion.

"Step forward," Voldemort instructed. Rabastan knew better than to hesitate, stepping toward him with a confidence he didn't feel. He almost winced when the Dark Lord wrapped a cold hand around his neck, squeezing painfully to redirect his attention back to the body. Tears were pooling under the auror's face, a grotesque pink color now after mixing with blood. Rabastan could tell he was trying to speak, but it seemed Crabbe's ministrations earlier had affected his vocal chords, so he simply gurgled and spluttered. "I believe singing is common at birthday celebrations?" Rabastan simply continued to stare at the body, the Dark Lord's hand firm and strong on his neck. "Make him sing, Rabastan."

"Yes, my lord," he responded, taking his wand out and stretching his arm forward, not even questioning the instruction. " _Crucio._ " The screams were instantaneous, echoing harshly through the empty, cavernous castle. The sound was all encompassing, particularly when combined with Bella's laughter, a high-pitched cackle he knew drove Rodolphus crazy. The Dark Lord made no sound, but did eventually remove his hand from Rabastan's neck, which was a cue to end the curse.

"He doesn't have much of a singing voice, does he?" Voldemort asked, resulting in the expected chuckles from his followers. Rabastan couldn't manage even a fake laugh, so instead he lifted the corners of his mouth into what he hoped resembled a smile. "Does your girlfriend sing, Rabastan?"

"Excuse me-" He said without thought, his arm falling down by his side.

"It was a simple question. Does your girlfriend sing?"

"I-I don't have a girlfriend, my lord."

"Ah, I've heard otherwise." A few whispers went around the circle, like a game of telephone amongst the Death Eaters. "Is it the beauty you meant to introduce me to over the holidays?"

"No, my lord-" He didn't dare say anything else, despite the dozens of arguments crossing his mind.

"I'd like to meet her. In truth, I'm quite shocked you've yet to recruit her. I hear her test scores were quite admirable." Rabastan didn't respond, couldn't respond, his breath lodged painfully in his throat. "Next meeting, Rabastan," Voldemort said, his voice soft and menacing. "Lucius -" he said, turning his full body away from Rabastan toward the blonde-man behind him.

"Yes, my lord."

"I have business I need your assistance with. Rabastan, I'm tired of this man's whimpering." With that, the Dark Lord stepped toward Lucius, gesturing toward one of the private rooms at the back of the castle. They two began walking in that direction, Bellatrix following merrily behind them. The rest of the Death Eaters stood there, staring at Rabastan, who turned his attention back to the auror. The man was twitching uncontrollably, almost vibrating, while his eyes were fixated on the floor, glazed over from the pain. Rabastan watched him silently, until the auror turned his gaze toward him, his expression frantic and begging.

" _Avada Kedavara -"_


	13. midnight mysteries

_"The emotion's building up inside of me_  
 _And what you're looking for is suddenly out of reach"_

From _The Emotion_ by Børns.

* * *

Exam scores arrived the first week of July in a tightly-sealed envelope that Eleanor left sitting on the kitchen table for three days before opening. Even while tearing open the seal, she half contemplated tossing it into a fire and finding out what her classes were on the first day of school. Common sense convinced her otherwise and she opened the letter that night after a small swig of firewhiskey. The liquid courage helped, though there hadn't been much to worry about. Her exam scores were acceptable in the subjects that mattered, though it seemed History of Magic and Care of Magical Creatures were not in her future.

Following the long, suspenseful wait for her exam scores, the summer took on an almost dull quality. Long walks on the grounds, trips to Diagon Alley, and the occasional social obligation were not enough to keep her mind off the fact that she was in the middle of rural England, alone. Each day passed much like the last, with very little to break the tedium, except when the post would arrive. Every afternoon, around three o'clock, she'd nonchalantly pass by the front foyer to scoop up any owls that were delivered for her. Every afternoon she hoped to find a letter from Rabastan. Every afternoon there was nothing. For the first two weeks of break, she continued to hope. After a month, the hope dwindled to acceptance. After a month and a half, acceptance turned to anger.

"Still no letter?" Dorcas asked one such afternoon, as she lounged in the front-room watching her friend flip through the post.

"I wasn't checking for one, I was simply looking for our book list," Eleanor said with what she hoped resembled a casual shrug.

"Right… As if I believe that. Come off it, Ellie. You check the post like clockwork every afternoon. Next time I see Rabastan, I'm giving him a black eye and a nice kick to the shin."

"I don't even know why I expected a letter. It's not like we talked about writing each other."

"You had your hand down his pants and was jerking him off in Bastian's office. The least he could do is _write_ you," Dorcas said, huffing slightly while crossing her arms.

"Must you retell that story at every occasion?" Dorcas grinned and shrugged. "He's an arse anyways. I barely passed that Defense Against the Dark Arts exam and that was his entire purpose. have no idea why Bastian and Slughorn would have chosen him as my tutor."

"I know you don't want to admit it, but he was the best choice. He received the highest marks in his year, that says something."

"Yes, it says he dabbles a bit too fervently in the Dark Arts."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. But haven't you seen him at Dueling Club? He likes those curses a bit too much."

"It's Dueling Club, you're grasping at straws here Ellie. He wasn't a bad tutor. Just an awful human being."

"Fine, fine," Eleanor said, while collapsing into the wicker chair right next to Dorcas. "We're not talking to him next year."

"Punching him doesn't require a preamble, so that should be acceptable," Dorcas said, blowing a rather large bubble with her gum.

"And Cissa is enthralled with Lucius, so she'll probably avoid him. As long as we can get through the next year, I'll never have to see him again."

"Done and done." At that, the clock across the hallway chimed four o'clock, resulting in Dorcas abruptly sitting upright. "Well, I have to go. Dinner party tonight with my family. I have to get 'dolled up' as my mother puts it."

"You want to borrow a dress? You're welcome to."

"Nah, but thanks." Standing up, Dorcas reached over and gave Eleanor a half-hug before heading to the fireplace. "You really need to get this cleaned, it's disgusting," she commented, grabbing a pinch of floo powder and tossing it inside. The green flames licked out at her as she spoke her destination and stepped inside. Within the blink of an eye, she was gone.

Dinner was an uneventful affair for Eleanor, considering her father was away on business and she ate alone. At one point, tired of staring across the room at the rather large portrait of her mother, she began to ask one of the house elves to sit down with her, but it scurried off before she could finish the request. Exhausted from her boredom, she trudged upstairs after the meal, intent on finishing her Charms reading for the summer.

Closing the door behind herself, she cast a weary look at the books strewn across her bed while walking toward the window. Pushing open the glass, which squeaked on it's hinges, she rested her elbows on the edge and basked in the cool, evening air. The sun was setting off in the distance, disappearing behind a large grove of trees, casting long shadows on the lawn. With a long, almost wistful, sigh, she walked back over to her bed and swept the books onto the floor. Picking up her Charms textbook from her desk, she flopped stomach first on the mattress and began flipping through the pages. In truth, her heart wasn't in it. By the tenth page, her face was flat on the page, mouth open, eyes closed, _sleeping_.

What felt like seconds later, though was actually hours, Eleanor woke with a start, half tossing the book off the bed as she sat up with a shock. Her eyes darted toward the door first, half-expecting someone to be standing there, but it was still closed. Then she looked over at the window, just in time to see the glass knock against the side of the house with a gust of wind.

"You're a bloody fool, Eleanor," she said to herself, while simultaneously trying to ignore her racing heart, which was painful and aching.

Leaning back against the pillows, she tried to close her eyes to sleep again, but with every creak of the house, every whisper of the wind, every book page fluttering on the floor, her eyes would snap back open. This continued for a few minutes, before Eleanor finally threw herself out of bed, stalked across the room, and reached her arm out to grab the window. As she began pulling it shut, she caught sight of a black-robed figure moving on the lawn below. With a high-pitched shriek, she stumbled backward while trying to reach for her wand, tripping over the discarded books on the floor.

" _Eleanor?"_ A voice shouted from outside, indistinguishable at that volume from such a distance.

Quite convinced she was having a heart-attack, Eleanor stretched out her wand while slowly getting back up to her feet. Creeping toward the window, she stopped just to the side, trying to get a glimpse of who was below without making herself an easy target in the window.

"Eleanor?" The voice repeated, this time softer, more questioning, with a twinge of concern.

"Rabastan?" She asked, almost rhetorically, spinning toward the window and glancing down at the grass once again. The figure was still there, clad in black robes, however, the hood was now removed, revealing the familiar face of Rabastan Lestrange. "What-what the hell do you want?"

"Are you alright?" He looked quite of place on the lawn, a tad nervous and unsure.

"I'm absolutely fine, no thanks to you scaring me half to death. What are you doing here? On my lawn? At -" she glanced over at the clock on the wall and groaned, " _midnight_."

"Will you come down?"

"No."

"Please, Eleanor. Come down. I need to talk to you."

"Well I have no wish to speak with you. So you best just be on your way." She waved her hand at that, meaning it to look dismissive. It simply made him smile, though it felt more like a shadow of a smile. There was a sadness to his expression, particularly in his eyes, which never quite met her's. He was staring at the ground, instead, digging his toe into the grass and fidgeting with the edge of his cloak. This wasn't the Rabastan she remembered from Hogwarts, who was confident to a fault. Part of her thought it was nothing more than an act, a way to convince her to come downstairs and _talk_ to him. The other part was concerned.

"Please. _Please_ ," he said, voice cracking.

Eleanor hesitated, not to be cruel, but for self-preservation. Walking downstairs would destroy the walls she'd built to protect her heart; it would be letting him back in. She'd be making herself vulnerable, yet again. The first time he hurt her, she'd chalked it up to his ignorance. He never knew about her mother and hadn't meant to offend her. The second time, though, _this time_ , it felt personal. But Eleanor wasn't callous or cold-blood and he was clearly struggling with something.

"Fine, fine. Just give me a second, alright? Don't go anywhere," Eleanor said, knowing full well if anything happened to him, she'd never forgive herself. Turning away from the window, she grabbed a sweater off the lounge chair in the corner and tugged it on. Thankfully with her father out of town, she didn't need to worry about him discovering Rabastan in their backyard. Granted, she supposed he might be proud that a _Lestrange_ was interested in his daughter, but she didn't let herself dwell on that degrading thought.

It took only another minute or two for her to walk downstairs. A few house elves looked at her strangely, not expecting her to be up and about at this time of night, but she passed by without even an acknowledgment of their presence. Stepping through the backdoor, she saw that Rabastan was still there, though he was now sitting on the lawn, looking quite young.

"What do you need?" She asked, trying to be forceful and emphasize the fact that she was angry at him. Rather than say anything, Rabastan looked up at her, then reached over and patted the patch of grass next to him. "I don't feel like sitting down with you. I'm _angry_ at you."

"I know, and you should be. I was an arse. Believe me, I tried to write. Every evening, I tried to write you a letter, but…"

"That's great, but it probably would have been better if you actually sent the letter."

"I know."

"Why are you here?"

"It's been a long night."

"Yes, well, mine is getting longer by the minute, so I'm not sure that's much of an excuse." He looked at her mournfully then, his mouth turned down slightly, lips pressed together until they almost disappeared. Again, he said nothing, but patted the spot beside him. This time, a bit exasperated by his inability to explain himself, she walked toward him in a huff and sat down in an overly dramatic fashion. "Happy now?"

He didn't respond. He simply turned, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her. Slowly, he lowered them down to the ground, his upper body covering her like a blanket, as his free hand swept back her hair. There were numerous times Eleanor began to stop him, even going so far as to reach out with her hand with the intent of pushing him away, but she never did. Eventually Rabastan ended the kiss, pulling back to look down at her, his eyes soft as they studied her face.

"Stop it," she said, blushing a bright red as she put a hand over her eyes to try and ignore her sudden embarrassment.

"Why?"

"You're making me nervous."

"Eleanor, a kiss shouldn't make you nervous."

" _You_ make me nervous, the kiss just makes it worse."

"Why do I make you nervous?"

"Why are you here?"

"I asked you a question first."

"Technically I was first," Eleanor said, removing the hand from her face and looking at him once more. "I don't understand what you're doing here."

"I needed to see you. I just, after the night I've had, I _needed_ to see you. Don't you understand that?" This time, Eleanor couldn't respond, not quite certain how she felt. Instead, she reached down and grabbed the corner of his robes, which were an odd, thick material that she wasn't familiar with.

"Why are you dressed like this?" She asked, rubbing the material between her fingers.

"A dinner party."

"They aren't dress robes, though."

"They're just robes, Eleanor. I can tell you're trying to change the subject."

"There is no subject. We have nothing to talk about Rabastan."

"I'm sorry, for everything. I'm sorry I left you in Bastian's classroom and I'm sorry I never wrote you to explain why. I'm sorry I was, as you called me, an arse."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because you terrify me."

"Excuse me?"

"You terrify me Eleanor Fairfax. There's no other way for me to put it -" Rabastan trailed off, giving the impression that he wanted to continue but had made the conscious decision not to. Eleanor glanced at him, watching as he laid back down upon the grass. She kept studying him, even as he reached down, entwined their hands, and closed his eyes. There were so many questions racing through her head, about the robe he was wearing, why he was there, why he'd been so upset, and most importantly, what he wasn't telling her. He looked so peaceful, though, reminding her of the effigies the muggle placed in their churches to commemorate the knights of days past, that she couldn't ask.

Eleanor wasn't quite sure when she fell asleep. Sometime early in the morning, though, she was jostled awake as Rabastan lifted her into his arms. "What are you doing?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper, a bit scratchy from sleep.

"Go back to sleep, love."

Eleanor nodded, her eyes too heavy to stay open long. She could feel his every step and hear when he opened the backdoor to the house. Up the creaky stairs they went, until Rabastan seemed to hesitate.

"Left," Eleanor said softly, attempting to identify her room for him. Rabastan didn't respond, he simply turned left and walked into her bedroom. He half-chuckled as they walked in, probably at the books littering the floor, before placing her down upon the bed. A second later, the blankets were tucked up around her shoulders and he was patting the edges of the blanket under her body, quite like her mother used to do when she was younger.

"Goodnight, Eleanor," he said, pressing a soft, nearly chaste kiss, to her lips, while his hand brushed back her hair.

Blinking her eyes open, she looked up at his face, trying to muster a smile despite being half-asleep. "You terrify me, too," Eleanor said, her voice so soft that Rabastan leaned forward to hear. She heard his chuckle, low and deep, but there was a sadness in his expression, not the smile she'd grown to expect. His eyes were half-closed, lips turned down slightly, nearly a frown, and his chest rose and fell rapidly, as if it was difficult for him to breath. He said nothing else, just turned and walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. There was a finality to the sound of the latch clicking into the place that Eleanor chose to ignore.


	14. cracks in the pavement

_"I hope the cracks in the pavement,_  
 _Lead back to you baby"_

From _Dug the Heart_ by Børns.

* * *

Following his near-sleep-over with Eleanor, the remaining summer days began to dwindle quickly. With the start seventh-year only days away, Rabastan's anxiety was almost uncontrollable. He rarely slept, hardly ate, and his eyes were constantly bloodshot from reading his textbooks. Rodolphus thought he was losing his mind and insisted that the NEWT exams were hardly worth this worry. Rabastan eventually found his brother's (subpar) exam scores and framed them, pulling it out every time he tried to argue his point. It didn't stop him from trying, though.

"You really need to take a break. If you keep squinting like that, you're going to end up looking like Great Aunt Carina," Rodolphus said one evening, marching into Rabastan's bedroom without even knocking.

"Do we even have a Great Aunt Carina?" Rabastan said, continuing to read even as he responded, not willing to pause for his brother.

"I don't know why you're so worried. I swear they aren't harder than the OWLs."

"Should I fetch those exam scores, too?"

"Take a night off," Rodolphus said while grabbing the book from Rabastan's hand. He glanced down at it briefly, before tossing it across the room.

"Do you need something? If you're bored, go bother Lucius."

"He's busy trying to court Narcissa."

"Than why don't you go see _Bellatrix_."

"I don't feel like being ridiculed tonight."

"Well I don't feel like being bothered tonight, so - shoo," Rabastan said, waving his hand toward the door.

"I actually did come here for a purpose, you know."

"And that is?"

"Father wants to speak with you-" Rodolphus trailed off at that, clearly aware that this news would not be well received. Rabastan stared at him for a long moment, before slamming down the quill he'd been holding in his hand.

"Fuck. Why?" When Rodolphus only shrugged, Rabastan began frantically assessing what he was currently wearing. Realizing he was still in the same clothes from supper, he sighed slightly and stood. "One week and I'm free."

"Until you graduate…"

"Well I won't be coming back here, I'm telling you that right now."

"Mum will cry."

"I don't give a shit. I can't live with him anymore." Rabastan tucked in his shirt quickly and tried to tame his hair, which was standing up at odd angles. "Wish me luck," he said, trying to half-smile at his brother, though it came out more like a grimace. Rodolphus simply nodded and gave a faux salute.

Walking toward the office felt like walking down a metaphorical plank, the dark sea churning and bubbling beneath him. Rabastan hesitated outside at the doorway, even contemplating turning around and leaving, but guilt got the better of him. Almost the moment he knocked, his father's tiresome voice came from the other side, "Come in." Opening the door, he stepped in and shut it quietly behind him.

"Rodolphus said you were looking for me, father?" For a split second, he began to bow forward, second-nature from spending time in the presence of the Dark Lord, but he caught himself before it became noticeable.

"Yes, yes. Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. Rabastan paused, confused by his father's _friendly_ tone. In the seventeen years he'd been alive, he couldn't recollect a single memory where his father didn't seem annoyed by his very presence. Right now, he seemed almost happy. Walking toward the desk, Rabastan sidestepped into place and sat down, glancing around the room nervously. "I have some news," his father said.

"Sir?"

"Regarding your future."

"If this is about my exams, I'm aware of your expectations and I'm certain I'll be able to exceed them."

"Yes, yes," he said again, this time dismissively. "This isn't about your exams. This is about your future marriage."

"Excuse me?" Rabastan said, grateful that his shocked tone was more reverent than demanding.

"I've just completed the arrangement for your marriage."

"But, I thought - Andromeda -"

"Not to that filthy Mudblood lover," he snapped, slamming his palm down onto the desk.

"Then, I don't understand."

It seemed whatever goodwill his father had toward him when he first entered the office was gone, replaced with the standard annoyance and disdain. "You'll be marrying Alecto Carrow next August," he said, sitting down behind his desk with a sigh that bordered on a groan.

"Alecto _Carrow?_ "

"While the Carrow's may not be Black's or Lestrange's, they are perfectly respectable family."

"That might be true, but I have no intention of marrying Alecto Carrow."

"That isn't your decision, son."

"Yes it is, or it should be. Besides, I'm seeing someone else."

"I'm aware, a Miss-" He glanced down at a sheet of paper, as if reading notes, and then looked back up at Rabastan, "Eleanor Fairfax. Fellow Slytherin, impressive OWL scores, most likely pureblood though her family tree is unconfirmed."

"Are you spying on her or something?" At this point, Rabastan was slowly losing grip with decorum, the anger superseding any attempts to remain calm.

"When I discover my son is consorting with a woman of unknown background, it requires investigation."

"So you _spy_ on her? What business is it of yours who I spend time with?"

"As the head of this household, how dare you suggest that it _isn't_ my business. As a Lestrange, you have a reputation to uphold, a legacy."

"Before tonight, you never seemed keen on having me in the Lestrange family, so pardon me if I don't think too highly of our legacy," Rabastan said, his hands outstretched and gripping the edge of the desk. He squeezed until his fingers ached, the subtle pain a reminder that this was not just a dream.

"How dare you -"

"How dare I what? Find someone I want to spend time with?"

"That girl is not acceptable. Even if the question of her bloodline weren't a concern, she's not one of the sacred twenty-eight and subsequently an _unsuitable match._ You will marry Alecto Carrow on the 5th of August if I have to place you under the Imperius curse to get you there."

Rabastan stood abruptly at that, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pushed it backward with his legs. He didn't bother to respond, knowing his words were a waste of breath. Instead he turned and walked straight out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Rodolphus was waiting upstairs for him, but with a single look, his brother knew to leave him alone. Pacing across his bedroom, he began kicking at the piles of textbooks he'd arranged so neatly to put in his trunk. He only stopped when his foot cracked the spine of a Potions book. Turning, he collapsed onto his bed and buried his face under the pillow. He thought about going back to Eleanor's and even went so far as to wonder where his jacket was, before realizing he didn't know what to say. Knocking on her front door and announcing his impending nuptials to Alecto Carrow didn't seem a brilliant way to end the summer.

Despite his father's threats, he wasn't completely relinquished to his fate. Eleanor was an understanding person, he could explain the situation and how he intended to get out of it. Granted, it wasn't the _best_ circumstances, but it was a rectifiable situation, or so he continued to remind himself, even as he boarded the Hogwarts Express at the end of summer. Shoving his trunk into one of the compartments, he collapsed into the seat beside the window and only glanced up when the door slid open, revealing Augustus. The two simply nodded at each other as Augustus settled into the seat opposite him, leaving the door wide open, probably expecting others to sit with them; nobody did.

"Why are you so pensive?" Augustus asked about an hour into the trip, while munching on a chocolate frog.

"I should ask you the same question," Rabastan responded, turning to the next page in his book, which he wasn't even reading.

"You aren't even reading the book, quit the act." With that, Augustus reached forward and grabbed the book off Rabastan's lap. He then tossed it across the otherwise empty compartment and crossed his arms. "You've got a sour look on your face and you have the entire time we've been sitting here. It's probably why nobody else chose to sit with us."

"Summer didn't end quite well."

"Do tell."

"My father gave me another one of his 'family expectation' speeches and let's just say it didn't end well."

"Was it about the NEWTs?"

"No, actually. It wasn't. He didn't even mention my exams."

"That's surprising, though a little disconcerting I suppose."

"You don't even know the half of it. Lets just say as of right now, make sure you're free August 5th."

"Excuse me? What's August 5th?"

"My impending nuptials to Alecto Carrow." Augustus simply stared at him, jaw agape. "Apparently it's all arranged with her family."

"You've got to be bloody kidding me," Augustus choked out.

"Not joking at all. He even threatened to imperio me."

"Damn, well. Felicitations, my friend. I suppose you could do worse."

"Are you forgetting a pretty critical detail? The fact that I'm _dating_ someone else."

"Are you dating now? Huh," Augustus said, making a face that told Rabastan he was purposely being antagonistic. "Have you told her?"

"Absolutely not. How the hell am I supposed to lead into that revelation? _Oh Eleanor, guess what, I'm engaged. Aren't you happy for me? But we can still snog whenever you want._ That will be a great conversation."

"The longer you wait, the worse it'll be. At least tell her you're trying to figure out a way to break it off. She trusts you, the whole thing will blow over."

"Unless I can't break it off."

"Unless you can't break it off," Augustus repeated, trailing off.

"You know the worst thing?" Rabastan asked, reaching across and grabbing part of a chocolate frog.

"What?"

"He was spying on her, my father. He knew all about Eleanor. Down to her bloody _exam scores_."

"Now that I didn't expect," Augustus said, his voice softer as he looked toward the compartment door.

"Neither did I. He ended the conversation with an uplifting lecture on her unconfirmed bloodline. Does he not realize I know the Fairfax's aren't one of the sacred twenty-eight; that they're ' _beneath'_ us? I've been well aware of my family obligations for years and that includes finding a suitable wife. I'm not even saying I'll marry Eleanor, but bloody hell, arranging a marriage to Alecto without my knowledge is entirely-" Rabastan paused when he glanced up at Augustus. "Are you listening to me anymore or have I bored you to death?"

"No, my friend, this entire situation just got far more…" Augustus began, still staring toward the compartment window. Rabastan turned, following his gaze toward the door, until his heart plummeted at the sight of Eleanor's blanched face. Her eyes were looking directly at him, darting around his face, clearly trying to understand the conversation she'd overheard. Above all the other emotions flashing across her face - confusion, anger - Rabastan couldn't stop seeing the hurtin her eyes.

"Eleanor-" he started, but the sound of her name spurred her into motion and she disappeared a second later, running off to the left. By the time he got up and glanced around the corner, she'd disappeared. He went so far as to try peering into every compartment, but saw her nowhere.

"Fuck, how much did she hear?" Rabastan asked as he stepped back inside his own compartment and slammed the door shut.

"The end of it, I guess. I don't know, she was there when I glanced up," Augustus said. "You can talk your way out of this one, mate. It's not a lost cause, just give her some space. She's just angry, she'll calm down."

Rabastan said nothing. Instead, he grabbed his textbook off the chair and opened it to his last page. While he pretended to be reading, his mind was replaying the scene over and over again, until he all he could see was Eleanor's eyes.

* * *

 **Authors Note:** Sorry anonymous reviewer, they're not at happily-ever-after. They're battling against some mighty large odds here. I appreciate you reading, though. Thanks everyone who has stopped by and spent some time with my story.


	15. the end of the beginning

"My memory could be erased  
And I'd still be thinking 'about your face-"

From _Clouds_ by Børns

* * *

For three weeks, Eleanor managed to avoid Rabastan. That wasn't to say he didn't try his best to find excuses to speak with her. At first it was simply cutting her off in the hallway, then trying to sit next to her at supper or in the library, finally he resorted to asking her friends. Even then, Eleanor staunchly refused, going so far as to spend her free time in the library, away from the common room, where it was far too easy to corner her. She knew he wanted to explain, perhaps make amends, but she wasn't ready for that. Even if she forgave him for what he said, that didn't solve anything, not truly. This was about far more than his words.

Eleanor never told Dorcas what she heard on the train, though it was quite clear her friend knew _something_ was wrong. Every now and then, she'd catch Dorcas studying her, a quizzical wrinkle set between her eyes. And yet, Eleanor said nothing. Numerous times she tried to; she even went so far as to tell Dorcas they needed to talk. When they were finally alone, though, the words just wouldn't come out. Somehow, speaking the truth, made it _real._

Regardless of Eleanor's silence, the engagement was fact, half the student population was whispering about it in the hallways. While Alecto talked about the engagement to anyone who would listen, Rabastan was notably silent, which only fueled the gossip. Narcissa was perhaps the worst, trying to ferret out tidbits between classes, at every meal, in the library, even pestering Lucius in her letters to ask Rabastan about it. Eleanor, on the other hand, firmly ignored Cissa and always left the room when the topic came up. She knew it was only a matter of time before Dorcas called her out on it.

"Why do you conveniently leave the room every time Rabastan's name is mentioned?" Dorcas asked one evening, sprawled out on her four-poster tossing a quaffle into the air.

"Why does it matter?" Eleanor asked, folding a shirt and placing into her trunk.

"I'm just curious. It's pretty noticeable, Narcissa _will_ catch on eventually."

"So she catches on, it doesn't matter either way."

"Are you angry that he's engaged?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Well, of course. He's a fucking arse, that's for sure. Leading you on for months and months. You didn't sleep with him did you?"

Eleanor didn't bother to respond to her question, she simply shot a disdainful look at her friend. "Do you have a point?"

"How did he tell you about the engagement? Wait wait, let me guess, some sob story about how he didn't have a choice. How it's family obligation and he never meant to hurt you. But he'd _love_ to keep seeing you until the wedding."

"He never told me -"

"He what?" Dorcas practically screeched, sitting bolt upright in the bed to look at her.

"We haven't spoken since the summer. Well truthfully, I haven't given him a chance to talk to me."

"You've got to be kidding me. Eleanor Fairfax, what the hell are you thinking?"

"That I don't want to talk to him, that's what."

"So you're what, just going to ignore him the rest of your life?"

"Basically."

"Bad plan, bad plan. Hey, did I mention that's a bad plan?" Dorcas said, tossing the quaffle into her trunk.

"You don't understand, it's more than just the engagement." Eleanor paused, shoving the rest of her clothes into her trunk, rather than folding them. "I don't want to talk about it, so let's just drop it."

"Only if you promise you'll talk to him. Something is clearly wrong, maybe it's the engagement maybe it's something more, but you need to deal with it"

"No."

"Yes. You need closure, air out your dirty laundry, whatever the kids are saying today. If you keep holding on to this anger, it'll give you wrinkles, and gray hair and -" Dorcas paused at the look Eleanor was giving her. "He treated you like crap, Ellie. You need to tell him that. You aren't this passive girl that just dodges a boy in the hallways."

"I know, I know," Eleanor said with a half-sigh, flopping backward onto her own bed and staring up at the ceiling.

"Then do something about it."

"Fine, okay? I will, tomorrow." She turned her head to look at Dorcas, who tried to smile reassuringly. While Eleanor didn't feel very reassured, she wasn't given an opportunity to say anything more, as a few seconds later, the door to their dormitory swung open and Narcissa walked in. With two equally exasperated sighs from Eleanor and Dorcas, they fell silent, listening to Cissa go on about her last letter from Lucius.

Waking up the next day, Eleanor was relinquished to her fate. There would be no avoiding Rabastan today, not if Dorcas had anything to do with it. From the moment they arrived at breakfast, Dorcas began poking her side, while discreetly pointing at him. He sat on the opposite side of the table and was busy stirring his porridge, chatting away with Augustus, who was scribbling something on a piece of parchment. For a moment, she considered waving her arm to grab his attention, but the smell of eggs and rashers beckoned her to the table. Besides, talking to him on an empty stomach wouldn't be wise, she reckoned.

A few minutes later, Eleanor watched Rabastan rise from the table and glance around, until he spotted her. He held her gaze a long moment, until Augustus shoved him in the shoulder and he turned away. They wouldn't see each other again until later that afternoon, when Eleanor finally worked up the courage to approach him outside the History of Magic classroom. His class was just letting out, the majority of students heading straight to the library to study for their NEWT exams, yet Rabastan paused just long enough for her to reach out and grab his wrist.

"Can we talk?" She asked quietly.

"Um, sure," Rabastan said, casting a sidelong glance at Augustus who was walking away from them.

"Not here, come on." With her hand still wrapped around his wrist, she tugged his arm and led them to the empty Charms classroom down the corridor. Once inside, she shut the door behind them and turned to face him head-on. "I want you to stop pestering all my friends, they aren't going to convince me to talk to you. I don't _want_ to talk to you."

"You're talking to me right now, might I point out. And it was your idea," Rabastan said, rather defensively, as he dropped his school bag down onto the floor.

"To tell you to quit bothering my friends."

"Did you ever stop to think that if you'd just talked to me, let me explain myself, I wouldn't have had to bribe your friends."

"Oh, now you're bribing them? Very nice, Rabastan. Granted, I should have expected that from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I wouldn't expect anything else from one of the _sacred-twenty-eight_."

"Oh piss off, Eleanor. You know I don't believe any of that crap."

"Do I?"

"You should, you know me well enough."

"Do I? Do I really know you well enough? I thought I did. When you came by my house -" She stopped mid-sentence, uncertain how to actually describe her feelings. That night, she'd felt something akin to hope, like maybe they'd make this relationship work. She didn't want to let go of that hope, yet looking at him now, his eyes wide and his arms crossed defensively, she knew it was nothing more than a fantasy. "Why don't you tell me about that robe."

"What robe?" He looked down at his school uniform in confusion.

"The one you wore the night you came to my house. The thick, black one."

"Why do you keep asking about that robe? It's just a robe. I own plenty of them and I'm quite certain you haven't seen half of them."

"You're a great liar, Rabastan. I applaud you. But if you think you're doing yourself any favors by hiding the truth, you're wrong."

The change in Rabastan's attitude was instantaneous, as he reached forward and grabbed her wrist tightly. His eyes were wide and his breathing was sharp and uneven. "If you think I'm lying to you for sheer pleasure, than you really don't know me at all. Don't ask me about things you know nothing about."

"I only know nothing about it because you won't tell me," Eleanor countered, though her confidence was waning. While his hand around her wrist was uncomfortable, it was the uncharacteristic display of intimidation that weakened her courage.

"You want the truth Eleanor?" He asked, leaning in until she swore his nose was nearly touching hers.

"Yes," she said, softly, ignoring the goosebumps rising up her arms.

"You _are_ beneath me."

"What?" In her shock, she pulled backward, yanking her wrist hard enough that he released it, though it kept throbbing long after.

"I'm a _Lestrange_ , Eleanor. My family has expectations, the world has expectations. And you, frankly, don't meet them." Eleanor simply stared at him, hearing the words, but not comprehending them. "Whatever this was between us, I think you're reading a little too far into it. I owe you nothing, you owe me nothing. So quit insisting that I should be sharing every detail of my life."

"What about - you - _you_ \- came to _my_ house this summer. And somehow I'm reading into this?" Eleanor asked with disdain, her confidence slowly returning. Unwilling to let it drop, on principle, if nothing else, she took a step forward and repeated, "Tell me about that bloody robe."

"What do you think is going to happen? I tell you about that robe and somehow that changes everything? It's not a magical robe, it's just some black fabric."

"It matters, the robe matters. It all matters."

"No, it doesn't."

"Then we're done, this is done," she said, lifting her shoulders in a half-shrug, far more nonchalant than she felt. "I'm tired of this Rabastan. Every time I think we're someplace good, someplace comfortable, you start taking huge steps backward. I thought when you visited my _home_ this summer, we were finally past all this bullshit, but it seems we aren't. I deserve better than this." Eleanor paused there, willing him to say something, to at least try and apologize and ask for her forgiveness, but Rabastan stood there silently. He was watching her, though, with a certain sadness in his eyes, but also a glint of determination.

Uncomfortable with the silence, she continued, the words rushing out. "You haven't treated me well since the beginning, I hope you know that. You've been awful to me. All I've done is try and be a good friend, a good _girlfriend_ , because no matter what you say, this was a relationship, yet you've continually shoved me away, made me feel like it was my fault. So I hope you enjoy your life with Alecto, that you live happily ever after, I really do." Adjusting the strap of her bag, she began to step backward toward the door, still expecting him to stop her. When she reached it and he was still standing there silently, she knew this was it, the end.

"I know what that robe means, Rabastan, even if you won't tell me." He visibly flinched, but she didn't give him time to respond, knowing his words would only be more lies. "Goodbye - and thank you for tutoring me. I got my 'Outstanding.'" With a final glance back at him, she turned the handle and pulled the door open, stepping into the rather busy hallway. A few students glanced her direction with curiosity, but she walked straight past them, not certain of her direction, only knowing she couldn't see him again, not today, maybe not ever.

* * *

 **Authors Note:** Thank you all again for continuing to read my story! As you can see, it's not all rainbows and happily-ever-after for Eleanor and Rabastan, but I will also let you know this is not the end of their story. Please stay tuned and note, we will be doing a bit of a time-jump in the next chapter or two (it will be noted at the top of the chapter).


	16. hairline fractures

_"All the mirrors are broken_  
 _And we're breathing in the smoke"_

From _Rolling in the Roses_ by Børns

* * *

Everything changed the moment the door closed and Eleanor disappeared.

Rabastan never considered following after her, never thought about apologizing, and even went so far as find Alecto later that evening and snog her quite publicly in the common room. He felt nauseous afterward and spent the rest of the evening lying on the bathroom floor trying to ignore Augustus' reciting Greek poetry to him from the other side of the doorway (which he claimed was a cure-all). He fell asleep on the bathroom tile and woke up the next morning sore and aching, the pattern from the floor pressed into his skin. When he stepped into the dormitory, he found it empty, save for Augustus, who looked at him from his four-poster with intrigue. Rabastan said nothing, simply grabbed a towel and went back into the bathroom. It was a matter of seconds before Augustus was in the doorway, leaning against the threshold.

"You ready, my friend?" Augustus asked while watching Rabastan soak a towel in scalding hot water.

"For what?" Rabastan asked, scrubbing his cheek rather harshly with the towel.

"What's waiting below in the common room."

"And that is?"

"Did you honestly expect that this would all get brushed under the rug and nobody would mention it?"

Rabastan paused in his scrubbing and turned to look at Augustus. "It's not their business and they should bloody fuck off."

"Hold up now, no need for that," Augustus said, waving an innocent hand. "Also, that rag is just making it worse. You look like a blushing bride." Rabastan huffed and turned away again, continuing to press the hot towel against his face. "Did you honestly think you could waltz into the common room, snog Alecto like there's no tomorrow, and then nobody would talk about it?"

"Wait, what? That's what this is about?" Rabastan asked, utterly confused.

"What the hell did you _think_ I was talking about?" Rabastan hesitated, which only seemed to spur on Augustus' curiosity. "What did you do? What the _hell_ did you do?"

"Finally broke it off with Eleanor, that's what," he responded through gritted teeth.

"Publicly?"

"No, no, in the Charms classroom, I think. Some classroom."

"Then how the hell would anybody know about that?"

"They shouldn't, that's the whole point."

"Do you mean to tell me that you came straight back from breaking it off with Eleanor and the first thing you did was snog your fiance like _that_ in the middle of the common room?" Augustus asked, whistling under his breath.

"If you're planning to psychoanalyze me, you can stop now."

"No, not psychoanalyze. But you must admit, it's a bit curious. You can't stand Alecto, you've said so time and time again. So why kiss her?"

"Because she had to understand - Eleanor did," Rabastan said, throwing the towel into the sink suddenly.

"Understand what?"

"That it's over."

"And you don't think just saying that would be enough? You're cruel mate, cruel."

Rabastan didn't take too kindly to those words and his facial expression showed it, a combination of hurt and disappointment, wrapped in anger. "I think she loved me, you can't just end that with a few words. She would have tried to get me back. I had to make sure she understood."

"You think so?" Augustus said, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

"The whole conversation - it was like she didn't even know me," Rabastan said, though he was speaking mainly to himself, his hands gripping the side of the sink basin tightly. "Granted what do I expect?" He was talking to Augustus again at this point and he spun around to look at his friend earnestly. "All they every see is a Pureblood, a son of the sacred-twenty-eight, and now, a Death Eater. None of them actually see _me._ " Augustus glanced behind himself as he spoke, before stepping inside the bathroom and shutting the door.

"Be careful mate, you can't just say that here, not yet."

"I don't bloody care. She figured it out you know, what I am. Bloody robes."

"Take a step back, what about your robes?"

"After - I - stupid decision really - well -" He paused, took a deep breath and continued. "She saw me in those blasted Death Eater robes and she wouldn't let the issue drop. Apparently she figured out what they were. Not sure how. Probably Narcissa."

"You're rambling, my friend," Augustus said, looking mildly concerned as he reached forward and placed a hand on Rabastan's shoulder.

"She's a fucking bitch, that's what," Rabastan said, though his stomach flipped painfully as he spoke them. Augustus simply stared, hand still resting on him, a bothersome pressure on his shoulder.

"Then I suppose it's good you broke it off."

"Exactly - which is why I snogged Alecto, which is why I have absolutely nothing to worry about today."

"Right," Augustus said, removing his hand and offering a half-smile.

"Did she think we'd actually end up together? Honestly. She's barely pureblood. I could marry a muggle and it'd be the same thing."

"And now the Dark Lord will stop pestering you about her."

"Exactly. That's exactly it," Rabastan said, waving a finger in Augustus' direction as he stepped around his friend and opened the door. Their dormitory was still empty and he immediately began to change into his uniform. Augustus waited for him, standing silently off to the side with his school bag hanging off his shoulder. "Let's go, before breakfast ends,"he finally said while grabbing his own bag and slinging it over his head. Again, Augustus said nothing, but turned to begin leading them down the stairs to the common room.

A few eyes turned Rabastan's direction as he entered, including the very eager eyes of Alecto Carrow, who was sitted in the corner as if she were Queen of the Slytherins and holding court. Narcissa was off to the side glaring and standing beside her was the one person he'd hoped to avoid: Eleanor. For a moment, it seemed she was determined not to look at him, but then ever so slowly, her eyes lifted up, until they were looking directly at his. While he thought he was prepared, he realize quite suddenly he wasn't, at least not for the anger in her eyes and the way she clenched her jaw tightly at the sight of him. Even her fists tightened, as if prepared to pommel him at the first opportunity. Tightening his own face, Rabastan returned the expression, forcing the disdain and contempt while he felt little cracks in his heart begin to form, like hairline fractures that might never heal.

"Come on," Augustus said, putting his hand on his shoulder yet again, this time to direct him toward the exit.

"Yes, breakfast beckons," Rabastan said, massaging a fist into his chest to alleviate the ache.

* * *

 **Authors Note:** Next chapter we will be skipping time. I have not yet determined precisely how much time, so more to come. Thanks again for reading!


	17. wedding of the century, part one

_"Oh, but I don't mind it_  
 _Watching you in the sand_  
 _The thought of you slipping through the cracks of my hands."_

From _Fool_ by Børns

* * *

"You have to hide me. Quick! She's on her way over here and she's going to find out that I forgot the boutonnieres," Dorcas said, grabbing Eleanor by the shoulders and practically shaking her.

"You're half-dressed - _honestly_ , turn around," Eleanor responded, twirling her friend forcefully so she could use a spell to button up the back of the dress. "And no, you don't have the boutonnieres, _I_ do. They're over there, so calm down."

"Oh," Dorcas said, her frantic expression softening until she was simply grinning. "I suppose I probably shouldn't be running away from the bride."

"That's generally frowned upon."

"Is there more champagne?" Dorcas asked.

"Yes, over there," Eleanor said, pointing off to the left. "Just don't have too much. I'm pretty certain the boy's are already intoxicated."

"A second glass of champagne won't hurt," Dorcas responded while picking up a bottle and pouring a rather large portion. "Besides, the boys can take care of themselves."

"Says the girl who lost the boutonnieres. Can you do me up?" She asked, gesturing to the back of her dress, which Dorcas buttoned with a flick of her wand.

"Wait wait, who lost the boutonnieres?" A shrill voice shouted. Amidst a flurry of commotion, Narcissa flew around the corner and looked at the pair of them as if they'd committed the ultimate betrayal. "I gave you the easiest job," she practically shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger at Dorcas, who was drinking her champagne as if it were water now.

"Calm down, Cissa. I have the boutonnieres. You're supposed to be enjoying the day, not worrying about little details like flowers. We have it under control," Eleanor said. At the look Narcissa gave her, she paused and sighed. " _I_ have it under control. Now come here, sit down. I'll grab you a glass of water. And you should probably eat something." Clearly a tad overwhelmed, Narcissa nodded and uncharacteristically allowed Eleanor to redirect her to a large armchair in the corner of the room. After quite a bit of finessing, they won the war against the layers of tulle and she was able to sit down, though she looked quite uncomfortable. Eleanor returned a few moments later, a croissant in hand, along with a glass of water. "Eat, drink."

"You look beautiful," Dorcas said, hiding behind her champagne flute while clearly trying not to be a complete failure of a bridesmaid. Narcissa beamed at the compliment, though, smoothing out the skirt of her dress proudly. Eleanor agreed, but only with a simple nod and smile, while moving to adjust the bobby-pins that were holding up Narcissa's hair. The dress _was_ beautiful, if a bit over the top. Even if one could look past the layers of tulle, which gathered tightly at the waist, every inch of the top was embroidered in pearls. Eleanor was quite certain the dress weighed more than Narcissa and was shocked her friend was able to actually walk in it.

"Bellatrix will be so jealous," Narcissa said with a gleeful smile while running her hands along the pearls. "Her dress wasn't nearly as gorgeous. Though it is getting a bit difficult to breath." Eleanor gave Dorcas a sidelong expression and they shared a mutual smirk, before nodding in agreement.

"While you rest, I'm going to make sure the boys are ready," Eleanor said, which really meant she was going to remove all the liquor from their dressing room so they could walk down the aisle without stumbling.

"Make sure Lucius is dressed. Everything needs to start on time. It's planned perfectly. We don't have a spare moment," Narcissa said.

"Yes, I know, I was there when we wrote up the schedule," Eleanor responded with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, it will all be perfect." It seemed to be the precise words Narcissa wanted to hear, as she sighed and relaxed back into the chair, finally taking a nibble of her croissant. Turning to Dorcas, Eleanor mouthed 'watch her,' before stepping out into the hallway.

A few turns and twists later, she was standing in front of the boy's dressing room. Inside she could hear shouts and laughter, though the voices were muffled and she couldn't make out precisely who was inside. Lifting her hand, she knocked gently on the door and tried to stifle a smile as she heard the room go silent, followed by the clinking of bottles, as the boys tried to hide away the evidence of their partying.

"Be right there," a voice shouted, followed by a stream of what she thought was French. Finally, a minute later, the door opened and she came face to face with Augustus Rookwood. "You can stop putting away the bottles, it's only one of the girls," he said, giving her a look that said the visit was poorly timed. Eventually though, he swung the door wider and gestured her inside.

Lucius was seated across the room, looking like quite the dashing groom in his tuxedo. Beside him was Rodolphus, who was balancing on the armrest, his arms crossed tightly. Finally she glanced at the corner, where the final groomsman was leaning against the wall, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets, a look of contempt etched across his face. Eleanor _knew_ she'd see Rabastan today, Dorcas had warned her, but even after five-years, she was woefully unprepared by the swell of emotions.

Standing there, casually leaning against the wall, he looked taller. And broader, his tuxedo snug against his chest and shoulders, only a shadow of the gangly teenage boy remaining. Eleanor's eyes glanced upward, to the five-o'clock shadow on his face and the way his hair curled, before finally resting on his eyes, which looked at her with a ferocity she wasn't expecting. Gone was the soft, warm gaze of a man who cared about her; it was replaced by a cold, hard expression that normally came with age and experience. Frowning slightly at his obvious anger, Eleanor began to wonder if they were incapable of letting bygones be bygones and putting the past behind them, even if just for the wedding. It was only when he pushed away from the wall and walked toward his brother that she realized the look wasn't reserved for her. The anger, the severity, the ire, they weren't directed at her, he looked at Rodolphus with the exact same expression.

"He's changed, hasn't he?" Augustus whispered softly into her ear, causing her to jump in alarm. Glancing at him with a look of confusion, he smiled. "Don't look at me like that, you know precisely what I mean."

After confirming that Rabastan wasn't listening to them, but was instead whispering into his brother's ear, she turned to face him and said, "So it's not just me? I figured he hated me after - everything."

"Oh no, it's not you," he waved off flippantly. "Time changes us all, Miss Fairfax."

"What do you mean?"

Augustus smirked and put a hand on her shoulder, leaning forward until his lips almost touched her ear. "I think you know precisely what I mean."

Looking at him with even more confusion, her thoughts were interrupted by Lucius, who cleared his throat loudly. "I believe my future wife will be quite displeased if we aren't running on schedule. Which I believe," he glanced down at a pocket watch, "means we should be lining up for the procession right now." He looked at Eleanor as if she were to blame for their tardiness. Standing, Lucius walked toward the door, barely casting a glance in her direction, before disappearing through the doorway.

"Nice to see you, Eleanor," Rodolphus said to her as he followed the groom. Instead of walking straight past her, though, he stopped in front of her and leaned forward, kissing her gently on the right cheek. He didn't linger, though, and quickly left the room.

Rabastan was directly behind him and Eleanor's heart tightened painfully as he stopped beside her. "Eleanor," he said, his voice just as she remembered, though his tone lower.

"Hello, Rabastan," she said, knowing her voice was far more calm and collected than she felt. For a brief moment he stood there, watching her, and though she would later wonder if she imagined it, his eyes seemed to soften every so slightly, until he actually looked like _her_ Rabastan. When he said nothing else and simply stepped around her, like she was a piece of furniture, it was a harsh reminder that _her_ Rabastan didn't exist any longer.

The wedding ceremony was lovely, picturesque even. When Lucius and Narcissa kissed, to the eager applause of the audience, Eleanor released a long sigh of relief. There'd been no mishaps, no last minute emergencies, no ripped dresses or drunken groomsmen. If they could simply make it through the reception without anyone tripping during a waltz, the wedding would be considered the ultimate success.

Later that evening, Eleanor sat at the bridal party table swirling her glass of wine while trying to discreetly slip off her high-heels, when she felt Dorcas wrap an arm around her shoulders and sit down beside her. "So, did you talk to him? When you went to the groomsmen's room?"

"Who?"

"Rabastan, of course," she whispered harshly, so it felt more like a shout, even though nobody else could hear.

"I said hello, that's it."

"Hello? You said hello? You finally come face to face with your ex-beau after _five bloody years_ and all you can muster is a hello?"

"What else was I supposed to say? The other groomsmen were right there, listening," Eleanor said, a little perturbed by her friend's judgment.

"Well what would you have said if they hadn't been there?" Dorcas countered, lifting an eyebrow as she grabbed Eleanor's glass of wine and finished it off.

Instead of immediately responding, Eleanor looked across the dance floor to the bar, where Rabastan stood next to Augustus, sipping a drink. He was looking down at the floor when she spotted him, his lips turned down into a frown and the corners of his eyes wrinkled in concentration. Just as she was about to turn back to Dorcas, her eyes caught sight of Augustus, who was staring directly at her. Lifting his hand, he gave her a small wave, before smiling and tilting his glass in her direction.

"I would tell him I'm sorry," Eleanor finally said, her expression forlorn as she looked back at Dorcas. "I would apologize for the bratty, teenage girl he put up with, the petty arguments, the silly jealousy, the lack of trust. All of it. I'd see if there was any chance he could forgive me for being so incredibly awful."

"Tell him that, then. Go over and talk to him."

"No, no, I can't," Eleanor said, reaching for her glass of wine just to find it empty. "It's too late for that."

"Maybe, maybe," Dorcas said, looking back off toward Rabastan with a half-sigh. "Then again, maybe it isn't."

* * *

 **Authors Note** : As you hopefully noted in the text, I skipped 5 years between the last chapter and this. To make sure we're all aligned with what the current ages/dates are, here is where all the characters stand (give or take, I am not calculating exact birthdays, but this is simply to give you an idea of where we are in the war). Rabastan - 22; Eleanor - 21; Rudolphus - 23; Augustus - 22; Narcissa - 21; Dorcas - 21; The Marauders & Lily Evans - 18/19. I acknowledge this is decidedly not canon, however, I don't think it takes away from the storyline and it's how I've been imagining their world. On another note, I hope you enjoyed seeing the "adult" versions of the characters as much as I enjoyed writing them. I'm very excited about jumping into the war-years.


	18. wedding of the century, part two

_"I'm ready to burn it to the ground_  
 _The walls are made of paper_  
 _And I'm hearing every sound"_

From _Rolling in the Roses_ by Børns

* * *

"I hate weddings," Rodolphus mumbled as he walked over and stood beside Rabastan, who was leaning against the bar beside Augustus. Finishing off his scotch, Rodolphus turned around and placed the empty glass on the counter. Within seconds, it was magically refilled and he turned back around to face the dancefloor. "Have I mentioned recently I hate weddings?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, you have," Rabastan said with a sidelong glance at his brother. "In fact, I think you said the same thing at your _own_ wedding."

"Well Bellatrix planned it, so we were doomed from the start," he responded with a sigh. "Why aren't you two idiots dancing?" He asked, ignoring the glares both Rabastan and Augustus shot in his direction. "Eleanor isn't dancing with anyone, you should go ask her Rabastan," he prodded while elbowing his brother in the side with a hearty laugh.

"It was much nicer over here before you decided to join us," Rabastan responded, lifting an eyebrow toward his brother, clearly displeased with his laughter.

"However, I do think he has a point," Augustus chimed in, turning slightly so that he formed a triangle with the two other men. "Eleanor _is_ currently alone and quite available to dance."

"I'm not sure why you feel the need to bring her into the conversation. If I'm going to dance with anyone, it will be my fiance," Rabastan countered as Rodolphus snorted under his breath.

"Your _fiance?_ " Augustus said. "Since when do you refer to her in public as your fiance? You barely acknowledge she exists."

"Regardless of how frequently I speak of her, she's still my fiance."

"I really think you should only call her that if you still intend to marry her," Augustus said while reaching past the Lestrange brothers to refill his drink.

"I do intend to marry her, I just don't know when," Rabastan snapped, gulping down the rest of his drink with one swig. "Are you two done pestering me?"

"I don't think so, this is far too amusing. So, how does it feel to see your old flame?" Rodolphus asked with a grin.

"If by that you mean Eleanor, than it feels like nothing," Rabastan responded, though saying her name felt odd on his tongue. For five-years he'd never spoken her name, skirted around it masterfully, only to be forced to speak it twice in the span of a few hours. It wasn't that her name elicited emotions, it was actually the lack of emotion that made it so strange to speak. Gone was the ache in his chest, gone was the disappointment, gone was the anger; Eleanor was simply a woman he used to know, nothing else.

"I think you're blushing, wouldn't you say he's blushing Augustus? Probably regretting the fact that he never managed to shag her. Though it's probably good you didn't, might have caught a muggle disease from her."

"Rodolphus -" Rabastan began in warning.

"Oh don't try to defend her Rabastan. I can't believe Narcissa even allowed her inside the venue. I suppose it's for _political_ reasons; Lucius is always trying to play both sides," Rodolphus said, his tone scathing. "She's a bloody _healer_ for merlin's sake. She puts her filthy little hands on those Aurors day after day, bet she's a fucking mudblood lover too."

" _Rodolphus_ -" Rabastan said, slamming his fist into the bartop until every eye in the vicinity was looking directly at them. Becoming aware that the guests were staring, he leaned forward, staring directly into his brother's eyes, "I may always have the unfortunate pleasure of your being your younger brother, the _lesser_ Lestrange, but never take my position in this family as an invitation to bait me. I'm not some toy to be played with and if you fuck with me, I won't hesitate to make you pay for it. Do not underestimate me, Rodolphus."

"Are you trying to defend her? Wait wait, let me guess, you still have _feelings_ for her?" He asked with a cruel, nearly manic laugh. "Do you still pine for her in the middle of the night? Dream about her mudblood loving hands on your body?"

"Eleanor is _nothing_ to me. This is about you trying to poke holes at my perceived weak spots. And I'll have you know, _I don't have any._ "

"Go dance with her then," Rodolphus prodded, eyebrow quirked upward, still trying to hold on to the upper hand in the argument. "If she means nothing to you, then you should kindly instruct her mudblood-loving-arse to _leave_."

Staring at his brother with a cool, distant expression, Rabastan wondered when their relationship first began deteriorating. Perhaps it was after Rodolphus' graduation, with the separation of time and distance. Perhaps it was after Rabastan graduated, when he joined his brother in the Dark Lord's ranks. Perhaps it was after Rodolphus married Bellatrix, who seemed to constantly heckle Rabastan at every opportunity. Whatever the turning point, Rabastan felt very little affection for Rodolphus now and consequently refused to show any weakness, even if it was imagined.

Leaning forward until he was practically bowing, Rabastan smiled. "Of course, _brother_ ," he said, before turning to look briefly at Augustus, whose face was almost eerily devoid of emotion. Spinning around, he began to walk directly across the dance floor, taking very little care to avoid any of the couples, which continued to draw undue attention on him. Off to the right, he could feel Alecto's eyes on him, perhaps trying to cast an Imperius curse at him so that he might ask her to dance. He ignored her and continued on his journey, only pausing once he was directly in front of Eleanor and Dorcas.

"Eleanor, Dorcas -" he said, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment. Both of the women stopped their talking immediately and looked up at him with expressions of shock mixed with a twinge of embarrassment.

"Rabastan," Dorcas said, clearly speaking up for her friend, who seemed to have lost her tongue.

"Care to dance?" He asked, lifting a hand and offering it to Eleanor. He watched as her eyes looked down at his hand, then back up at his face, clearly unsure how to answer.

"I don't really-" She began, but was interrupted almost immediately by Dorcas.

"Yes, she will. She'd love to dance," Dorcas said, half shoving Eleanor out of the chair.

"I need my _shoes,_ " Eleanor hissed at her friend, before she was handed a pair of high-heels from under the table. Watching her slip them on, Rabastan couldn't help but compare her to Narcissa, or even Alecto for that matter. Neither of them would have dared remove their shoes at such a formal event; etiquette was paramount in Pureblood society and failure to comply resulted in banishment. Either Eleanor was entirely unaware of the rules, or was disregarding them purposely.

Once she was standing, Rabastan took her hand and led them down to the dance floor. With a twirl, he positioned them at the center, sliding one hand onto her waist while lifting their clasped hands into the air. As the orchestra began to play, Rabastan stepped forward, leading them through the very familiar first steps of the waltz.

"It's been a long time since I danced a waltz," Eleanor said, breaking the silence rather abruptly.

"Indeed."

"So...how have you been?"

"Are you going to chit-chat the entire dance?" He asked, finally looking down at her.

"Normally people talk while dancing. And it has been five-years, you'd think we could find at least a few topics to discuss."

"If I'd wanted to catch up over the last five-years, I would have simply sent you an owl," Rabastan said, looking back out at the sea of faces. He spotted Rodolphus almost immediately, though Bellatrix was now standing beside him shooting daggers in his direction, probably for the embarrassing outburst earlier. Alecto was also watching, though her gaze was focused solely on Eleanor.

"Then why did you ask me to dance?" Eleanor asked, clearly confused as she looked up at him.

"To tell you it's time you left."

"Left?"

"Yes, left the reception. You've been allowed to celebrate your friend's marriage, now it's time you found the new Mrs. Malfoy, kissed her on the cheek, and bid her farewell."

"You of all people have no say in what I do," Eleanor countered.

"Except that I do. Lucius has been gracious enough to let you attend today, even be part of the bridal party, yet, it's time we all acknowledged that you don't belong here."

"I belong here just as much as you do."

"That's almost laughable, Eleanor."

"I think you've made it quite clear before that I'm _beneath_ you. If you asked me to dance to simply rehash that argument, we can stop right here."

"Are you _quoting_ me?" He asked with a laugh. "Bloody hell, I forgot I even said that. But yes, that's probably the best way to phrase it. You're beneath us."

"How? I'm a pureblood, I have money, what is it that puts me beneath you all?" Eleanor was growing defensive, a blush rising on her cheeks with each word while her hand squeezed his tighter with each step of the dance.

"Let's clarify, you _may_ be pureblood - as far as I know it's yet to be confirmed. And money comes and goes, that's of little consequence." Twirling her outward almost roughly, he pulled her back in so she was close, her chest pressed up against his own, allowing him the opportunity to whisper. "We can't have a mudblood sympathizer at this affair."

"What the hell?" She hissed, digging her nails into the top of his hand until he swore she drew blood. At the jolting pain, he pushed her body away, so they were the appropriate distance apart.

"Are you enjoying Mungos? You're Mediwizard, I hear - quite the accomplishment."

"Your point is?"

"Working in such close proximities to the Aurors, you must care for them a great deal. Dedicating your life to their welfare and protection. Quite a specific group of people to focus on, wouldn't you say?"

"Come off it, you're only pissed off because they're _hunting_ you. And for your clarification-"

He didn't give her a chance to finish before practically growling at her. "Hunting, you say?" With a slight, almost twisted laugh, he tightened his grip on her waist until she winced. "Never forget who is being hunted, my dearest Eleanor, that would be a grave error in judgment. There is only one predator in this scenario and is not your pitiful Aurors. So remember, when the time comes to draw a line in the sand, you don't want to be caught on the wrong side." Rabastan watched as her face contorted from anger to fear to disgust, while he continue to smile down at her. "Think on that," he said, as the song slowly came to an end.

While his intention was to lead her off the dance floor, Eleanor pushed his arms away from her body almost immediately. Without a word, she stormed off to the left, back to Dorcas, who looked at him in confusion. Rabastan didn't watch to confirm if she left the reception or not, instead he looked down at his hand, at the little droplets of blood that were forming on his skin. He couldn't help but smile.

* * *

 **Authors Notes** : Thank you to the lovely readers who left reviews, they were such a treat! Forewarning, this will be my last update until after Christmas, as I will be without my computer for awhile (making it difficult to type up the next chapter), though I will work on it! As well, going forward, please take note if I put any warnings at the beginning of a chapter. Life is quite a bit darker for our duo than it was at Hogwarts, so there may be certain scenes that will have triggers in it. I will always alert you to those in advance, though. Nothing above M. Overall and most importantly, I hope everyone has a lovely Holiday season and enjoyed this new chapter.


	19. turning tides

_"Not a saint but do I have to be?_  
 _Well, baby, you're my holy ghost_  
 _And I need you close. Come back to me"_

From _Holy Ghost_ by Børns

* * *

Rabastan's words stayed with Eleanor, despite her best attempts to forget them. Nowadays, her 'best attempt' meant working double-shifts at St. Mungos. There was nothing like 48 hours of sleep deprivation to stop her over-analyzing the petulant words of an old-lover. Even when she managed to trudge home to her flat in Mayfair in the hopes of gaining some desperately-needed sleep, she inevitably ended up back at Mungos, begging the head of the Mediwizard Ward, Atticus Hughes, to allow her another shift. Thankfully for Eleanor, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement continued to increase the number of Auror raids weekly, which directly correlated to the need for Healers. It never took long for Eleanor to convince Hughes to let her begin another shift.

After weeks of avoiding the outside world, Eleanor was unsurprised to see Dorcas rounding the corner of her ward one afternoon. Just because she was unsurprised, though, didn't mean the visit was welcome. With a small squeak, she shoved her clipboard at another healer and tried to hide behind a group of first-year residents walking toward the cafeteria. Dorcas, however, must have spotted her before her quick maneuverings and reached between the first-years to tug her away from the group.

"You've been here three weeks straight," Dorcas said with narrowed eyes as she dragged Eleanor by the forearm to the waiting area. "I haven't seen you since the wedding and it looks like you haven't _slept_ since the wedding."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just working my shifts."

"Don't make me go talk to your boss. He might terrify some people, but he'll tell me the truth."

"Come off it, Dorcas."

"Don't you dare dismiss me, Eleanor Fairfax. You haven't just been working your normal shifts, you're avoiding something. Is it me, did I do something?"

"That's almost laughable, why would I be avoiding you?"

"Fine, maybe it's not me, but it's something. What is going on with you?"

"Nothing is going on. I've just been busy. We're in the middle of a bloody _war_. There are going to be weeks where you don't get to see me. Now I'm sorry if you're going to take offense to-"

"Stop it right there," Dorcas demanded. "This isn't about me taking offense to anything. This is about you being overworked. I can see how exhausted you are. You only do this when something is bothering you." Eleanor dug the toe of her shoe into the carpet and stared intently at the floor, pointedly ignoring her friend. "Wait, wait," Dorcas continued, thankfully filling the silence. "This started after the wedding, the wedding where you danced with bloody _Rabastan Lestrange_."

"You could have been an Auror with those detective instincts," Eleanor said, half rolling her eyes.

"So I'm right? Scratch that, I knew I was right," Dorcas insisted, poking her quite insistently in the stomach. "Now, tell me all the details."

"Yes, I'm working long hours to try and sort through a few things that happened at the wedding. I think better here, you know that. But honestly, that's all you're getting from me."

"If that's all I'm getting, then I'm telling Atticus."

"Dr. Hughes, honestly."

"Dr. Hughes, then."

"You're going to _tattle_ on me?"

"I'm trying to help you."

"You just want to hear me admit that it's all about Rabastan. And knowing you, Miss Romantic, you want me to admit that I'm still in-" Eleanor went silent as shrill sirens began echoing through the waiting area. Glancing toward the hallway, she watched as her fellow Mediwizards hurried toward the room they called the cubbyhole. It was nothing more than a dark, cavernous storage room where they kept their "travel kits" - bandages, potions, syringes - yet, the cubbyhole was where every rescue mission began. "I need to go - look, I'll find you later and we'll talk. I promise, alright?" Eleanor placed her hands on Dorcas' shoulder and looked at her friend sincerely. She could sense that Dorcas wanted to protest, but instead of saying anything, she simply reached forward and hugged Eleanor tightly.

"Be safe," Dorcas whispered, then released her. Eleanor nodded quickly before turning and racing toward the cubbyhole, almost colliding with her boss as she rounded the corner.

"Sorry, sir," she said, ducking into the room quickly to avoid the inevitable lecture for working another double-shift. He looked displeased, but said nothing as he closed the door behind her. All the other Mediwizards on shift were ready, their kits strapped to their waist. Eleanor grabbed her own out of a small locker with her name on it and began putting it on as Hughes addressed them.

"At approximately 7 PM this evening, ten Aurors set out on a reconnaissance mission at the abandoned library in West Sussex," Hughes began, his voice gruff and low. "At 7:15 PM, they were ambushed by an estimated eight Death Eaters. Early reports claim one Death Eater has been brought into custody and the others fled when backup arrived. Extensive injuries have been reported. Fairfax and Lewis, you apparate first. Randall and Harrington, second. McIvey, you go with Knox. That's all." As Atticus turned and left, Eleanor searched the room and located Robert Lewis on the other side of the room. He nodded toward her, then lifted three fingers into the air. With each chime of the clock in the corner, he lowered a finger, until all three were gone. In unison, the pair stomped down their left foot, turned, and disapparated.

The West Sussex Library had been abandoned by the Muggles a year earlier after a series of 'spooky incidents' as their newspapers called it. Subsequently, it was dilapidated and crumbling, with ivy covering almost every inch of the brick walls, the stone walkway destroyed after months of winter weather, and the windows covered in grime. To any wandering eye, the building had nothing but rotting books inside and perhaps the wayward teenagers snogging in the back. Once Eleanor stepped past the wrought iron fence surrounding the property though, the magic took over - ivy slowly crawled backward until it disappeared, the walkway righted itself, and the grime on the windows washed away. On a normal day, the building served as the Headquarters for the British Potion-Makers Association. Today, it looked like a war zone. Half the building was decimated, nothing but a pile of bricks on the lawn, and all the upstairs windows were shattered.

"I'll go around the back, you go in the front. If you find an injured Auror, shoot up flares, but don't wait to take them to Mungos," Robert said, eyes darting up and down, trying to locate some sign of life.

Eleanor nodded silently, wand outstretched while she turned slowly in a circle, studying her surroundings. Everything was eerily silent, particularly once Robert's footsteps disappeared around the other side of the building. Walking up toward the front door, she saw it was already opened and gently swinging in the breeze. Nothing was visible through the small crack, so she waited and listened. When she heard not even a whisper, Eleanor pushed the door open, careful not to let the hinges squeak.

Everything was dark and it took her eyes a moment to adjust. To the left was a pile of bookshelves toppled over, pieces of parchment scattering the floor. To the right was a sitting room, where armchairs and tables were upside down and destroyed. While she began toward the overturned bookshelves, she heard a shuffling of feet upstairs and turned instead to the staircase, which was directly across from the entrance. Taking the steps two at a time, she reached the top quickly. Using her wand to illuminate the hallway in either direction, she listened intently for another sign of movement.

"Vance? Longbottom? Moody?" Eleanor called out, listing off a slew of Auror's in succession, hoping one of of them might be the cause of the noise.

"Fairfax," A gruff, voice called from down the hallway. "I've got Longbottom."

"I hear you, Dawlish," Eleanor responded as she turned to the left and raced down the corridor. John Dawlish was in the third room she passed, kneeling on the floor, hunched over Frank Longbottom who was sprawled out beneath him. "Get out of my way," she instructed after stepping inside. Dawlish glanced up at her and nodded, before sliding to the right to let her get a clear view of Frank. Blood was soaking into the fibers of his shirt, turning the fabric a putrid brown color. His eyes were darting back and forth, while his hands twitched almost uncontrollably. "Frank, hey Frank, look at me," Eleanor said while kneeling down and tilting his face up gently with her hands.

"Hey Ellie," he said with a grin, though his bottom lip shook.

"Do you know what kind of spell they used?" She asked, ripping off his shirt as she spoke to him.

"Nah, never heard it before. Hurts like a bitch, though."

"Yea, I'll bet it does," Eleanor said, giving him a reassuring smile, even as she saw the dozens of cuts across his chest. For a moment, she thought maybe there was a knife-wielding Death Eater out there, but it seemed almost sacrilege for them to use a muggle weapon. "Here, you've gotta drink this -" Lifting a vial, she forced it between his lips and tilted it backward. After a moment of coughing, he managed to swallow it down with a wince. Within seconds, he was blinking heavily, barely able to keep his eyes open. A moment later, he was unconscious. Eleanor didn't waste a moment before pressing her wand to his chest, whispering " _Tergeo."_

"What the hell kind of spell does this?" Dawlish asked, shaking his friends foot with his hand.

"I don't know," Eleanor responded absentmindedly, too concentrated on Frank to glance up at him. " _Vulnera Sanentur_ ," she started, before repeating it again, " _Vulnera Sanentur_." Just as she was about to repeat it once more, to complete the three-part incantation, she heard Dawlish shout in surprise and then a hard thud as his body fell to the floor. "Dawlish?" She started, pivoting toward his body to try and help him.

"He's fine," a voice said gently, yet confidently, above her. Eleanor didn't need to look up to know the source of the voice, though slowly, she tilted her head upward to come face to face with Rodolphus Lestrange. "He was blocking my way," he said, as though that was a valid reason to knock the Auror unconscious.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing you'll be displeased with."

"You just knocked an Auror unconscious, I'm displeased."

Rodolphus sighed and clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He began to pace then, the bottom of his dark, black robes swishing as he walked. For a moment, Eleanor almost considered reaching out to touch the fabric, but instead tightened her hand into a small fist. "I'm in need of a healer," he finally explained.

"A healer? You know, there's a building full of healers. It's called St. Mungos."

"You always were rather entertaining," he commented, kicking his foot into Frank's leg. "I'm afraid you don't really have much choice in the matter. We need a healer."

"You need a pureblood healer," Eleanor said through gritted teeth. Rodolphus simply grinned. "No, thank you." Turning back to Frank, as if ignoring Rodolphus would send him on his merry way, she was startled when he grabbed her roughly by the upper arm, pulling until she was standing. "Let _go_ of me," Eleanor screamed, knowing she wasn't alone in the building. " _Robert!"_

"Oh none of that now," he said in a cool whisper, squeezing her arm until she cried out in pain. "Shh, Eleanor, shhh." With a slow smile, he withdrew his wand, pointing it directly at her chest. A rush of fear swelled in her stomach at the sight, but she wasn't given time to react before Rodolphus whispered, " _Imperio_ " and the world went quiet.

* * *

 **Authors Note** : No warnings for this chapter, but advanced warning for the next. I'm honestly not too familiar with the "typical" warning labels, so in brief - Eleanor is under the Imperius curse and will be placed in a situation where she has no control over her decision making. There will be reference to the possibility of rape and non-consensual sex. Within the next few chapters, you can bet there will be blood and also the inclusion of characters who find blood sexual, as well as physical violence. Again, I will not be describing anything over an "M" rating.


	20. lack of immunity

**_Warnings_ : **As mentioned in the last chapter, this sequence includes allusions to rape and forced sexual acts due to the Imperius Curse.

* * *

 _"Rolling in the roses_  
 _Pocket full of explosives_  
 _Watch out it's gonna blow"_

From _Rolling in the Roses_ by Børns

* * *

Everything in the room was silent, except for a gentle wheezing sound coming from the corner. All the lights were extinguished, leaving only a sliver of moonlight to illuminate a group huddled in the corner. Dressed in black robes, they were nearly indistinguishable from the furniture, though they seemed quite content in the pitch-black darkness.

" _Lumos_ ," a voice said gently, the soft glow from the tip of the wand revealing the rather nonchalant expression of Augustus Rookwood. "Well, he's still alive," Augustus commented, shrugging slightly.

"A brilliant observation, truly," Rabastan muttered under his breath before reaching out and snagging Augustus' wand, using it to illuminate the wounds on Evan Rosier's chest.

"I never said it didn't look painful, or you know, threatening. Just that he wasn't dead," Augustus added, grabbing back his wand and giving Rabastan a look of annoyance.

"Have you ever seen a spell like that?" Rabastan asked, using his fingers to gingerly lift up the burnt edges of Evan's shirt.

"Who cares, he'll be fine," Bellatrix said dismissively, her words almost a direct contradiction to her nervous pacing. "Rodolphus went to get a healer, anyways."

"What if the healer can't, well, _heal_ him?" Augustus asked before swatting away Rabastan's hand from the wound.

"Then he dies," Bellatrix said bluntly, stopping in her movements and crossing her arms.

"How utterly reassuring of you," Augustus mumbled.

"Will all you just be quiet?" Wilkes said from the doorway, completely ensconced in shadow.

Avery laughed while sitting off to the side, tilting backward on a wooden stool. "Wilkes is upset that his boyfriend is injured."

"Fuck you, Avery," Wilkes snapped.

"Boys, boys," Alecto said gently, before sauntering over toward Avery and sliding her arm around his shoulder, her hand slipping into the collar of his shirt, resting intimately on his chest. Rabastan watched her stroke his skin, bile rising up in the back of his throat. He choked it down, ignoring the knowing look from Augustus. Rodolphus would have accused him of jealousy, but it wasn't that. It would never be jealousy; it was something more akin to betrayal. He'd never wanted to marry Alecto, yet he'd accepted his responsibility, agreed to this silly betrothal. And flaunting her affair with _Avery_ was how she repaid him? He was a Lestrange, one of the sacred-twenty-eight, the Carrow's were worthless in comparison. It was clear his father was intent on selling him off to the highest bidder - he just didn't dare ask what the price was.

"Rodolphus is here," Snape announced, stepping around the corner to enter the room.

"You're trailing blood, Severus," Bellatrix told him with a wave of her hand, gesturing to the small streak behind him. He didn't bother glancing behind him, but gave her a stern look as he stopped at the end of the couch, his eyes examining Evan's body. Snape went to stand beside Wilkes, his arms crossed casually with what could almost be considered an amused expression. Rodolphus turned the corner a moment later, his pace confident, his face nondescript. "Well, did you get a healer?" Bellatrix asked, twirling her hair around her forefinger as she watched her husband.

"No, instead of fetch a healer, I went and had a drink. Honestly, what the hell did you think I was doing for the last half-hour?" Rodolphus snapped, his temper clear. Rabastan watched as Bellatrix practically snarled in response. He would never fully understand their relationship, then again, he wasn't particularly certain he wanted to.

"Then where the bloody hell is-" Bellatrix began, before she went silent at the sight of _Eleanor_ rounding the corner.

Nobody spoke for a moment, until Augustus finally said, "Fuck." Rabastan didn't move, he hardly breathed, while watching her walk toward them. He was confused for a moment, unfamiliar with the rather odd expression on her face, but it slowly dawned on him that she was under the Imperius Curse.

"You put her under the Imperius?" Rabastan asked, his voice soft.

"It was easiest," Rodolphus said with a shrug, before glancing down at Rosier. "He seems to be the same, I suppose that's a decent sign."

"Well you dragged her all the way here," Wilkes said, stepping forward and gesturing toward his friend. "Making her bloody do something."

Rodolphus sighed, as if he couldn't be bothered to help his fellow Death Eater, but then he flicked his wand in Evan's direction, though he didn't even bother to lift his arm away from his side. Eleanor twitched slightly, before turning to the left and walking directly toward Evan, who was still lying unconscious on the couch. Rabastan was forced to step backward when she approached, to make room, though as he stepped away, his back collided with Augustus' chest. When he glanced over his shoulder, trying to give an expression that said _move_ , Augustus grinned and crossed his arms. Out of sheer stubbornness, Rabastan refused to step around him and so he stayed there, just a foot away, as Eleanor began to remove Evan's shirt.

The wounds appeared worse once the fabric was removed. Very little flesh was left on Evan's chest, most of it mutilated and peeling away. The couch was now blood-soaked, staining Eleanor's shirt every time she leaned forward. She never seemed to notice though, her movements too confident and self-assured while she examined the wounds and began cleaning the dried blood away.

"This is disgusting," Avery mumbled off to the side, barely audible.

"Then leave," Rabastan snapped at him, shooting a glare in his direction.

"Fuck you, Lestrange."

"Watch it," Rodolphus said with narrowed eyes. There had been a time when Rabastan expected nothing less from his older brother; he'd always been his protector. Now, the defensive reaction felt out of place and a bit awkward. Even Avery just smiled and remained where he was, though he tightened his arm around Alecto's waist, eliciting a small giggle from her. It made Rabastan's skin crawl.

Gritting his teeth until his whole jaw ached, Rabastan turned his attention back to Eleanor, who was rummaging through a small black bag that was hooked around her waist. He could hear glass bottles clinking together, so it was no surprise when she pulled out a vial of a sapphire-blue liquid, popped it open, and pressed it to Evan's lips. Reaching forward, she opened his mouth wider and then tipped the vial backward. For a moment, Rabastan thought Evan was going to choke on the liquid, but it went down his throat without issue. Eleanor tossed the vial aside, then pressed the tip of her wand against his bare chest. While he could see her lips moving, her voice was too soft to hear the incantation.

"Is she almost done yet?" Bellatrix asked, while sitting off to the side and studying her nails.

"You can see just as well as the rest of us," Augustus responded.

"I'm just bloody _bored_ ," she said.

"I agree," Avery added without missing a beat. "You said that raid would be exhilarating, _Rodolphus._ Instead we end up sitting around while little miss-mudblood-lover heals up that moron."

"I never claimed to be your source of amusement," Rodolphus responded. "If you find this so tedious, leave."

"She's finished, either way," Augustus interrupted, nodding his head toward Eleanor who was using a salve on the now-closed wounds.

"Wonderful," Avery said, bouncing up from his seat, which unceremoniously uprooted Alecto from his lap. Walking straight over to Evan's side, Avery looked like a concerned friend for a moment, before his attention turned to Eleanor. "I think I've figured out the solution to all our problems." Lifting his hand, he combed his fingers through Eleanor's hair, before wrapping it around his fist and tugging her head backward. "What do you say, Rodolphus?"

Rodolphus didn't respond, not at first, instead Rabastan felt his brother's eyes turn briefly toward him. They lingered only for a second, before he turned back to Avery. "I say that's a brilliant idea." Flourishing his wand, he pointed it directly at Eleanor, over-emphasizing the gesture, Rabastan thought. He didn't say anything, but a moment later, Eleanor's body turned away from Evan and looked directly at Avery. Her expression was vacant, eyes glazed over and unblinking. Even as Avery leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers, her eyes stayed open, staring blankly ahead of her, directly at Rabastan.

The kiss was grotesque; a sloppy, disturbing combination of lips and tongues. It was a rough, demanding kiss, with no affection whatsoever. Rabastan felt like a voyeur, standing there silently, watching as Avery dragged Eleanor's bottom lip between his teeth, nipping at the end, so a drop of blood dribbled down her chin. Avery leaned backward then, looking her up and down, before grabbing at the edge of her shirt and lifting it up over her her head. Her bra was black and lacey, an unexpected discovery buried under her uniform. Clearly pleased, Avery reached out and cupped her breasts in his hands, pushing them together with a grin. Rabastan knew he wouldn't be content with using his imagination and the bra was removed only seconds later.

The flashbacks from their time together were inevitable, though Rabastan was surprised by the little details that surfaced first: the sound of her frantic breathing, how soft the skin on her stomach was, the cool wood of the desk beneath his knees, the way his breath hitched when her hand wrapped around him. He'd never admit to it, but there were nights, lying in his dark, cold apartment that he left himself mull over those moments with Eleanor at Hogwarts. It was nothing more than nostalgia, he told himself time and time again, a way to pass the lonely nights.

Watching Avery now, his hands sliding down her stomach to the waist of her pants, Rabastan knew he'd never be able to fall asleep to those memories again. It wasn't even Avery's lust that destroyed them, it was the look on Eleanor's face - the distance in her eyes, the calmness, despite the man actively violating her. Yet Rabastan said nothing, did nothing. The slightest movement and Rodolphus would pounce, insisting he still harbored _feelings_ for a mudblood lover. That didn't mean he was immune, that his stomach wasn't boiling, his muscles aching from trying to stop himself from interrupting.

It was when Avery pushed Eleanor down to her knees and reached for the zipper on his pants that Rabastan thought he might be ill. The only thing keeping him upright was the solid, stoic presence of Augustus behind him. Everyone in the room was silent, which meant every movement was amplified: his shirt, the zipper, the button, his underwear, and finally the slow removal of his erection. Eleanor's mouth was right next to it, Rabastan knew Avery could probably feel her breath against his skin and he wanted nothing more than to tear her away from him. It wasn't because this was Eleanor, he told himself, no woman should be subjected to this public humiliation, not while under the Imperius curse.

Sliding his hand into her hair, Avery was grinning like a bloody idiot as he pushed her mouth toward his erection. Eleanor's jaw opened slowly, at the behest of Rodolphus' spell, her lips beginning to wrap around him.

"Fuck off," Augustus said right before he slammed his fist into Avery's face. Avery teetered for a second, before stumbling over his own pants and falling to the floor. Augustus grabbed Eleanor roughly by the arm and tugged her back into a standing position. "We're not all disgusting pricks like you." While his words and tone were composed, Augustus looked quite ready to murder Avery, his eyes narrowed and lips tightened until they almost disappeared. Eleanor was glancing around at them all now, the sudden disruption enough to break the Imperius curse. It seemed the effects were lingering though and she seemed confused by her current surroundings.

"Hey now, who are you to ruin our entertainment?" Rodolphus said, standing up from where he'd been sitting off to the side.

"Apparently the only one of you with a bloody conscience. Or any type of intelligence," he snapped, holding Eleanor tightly to his side. "The Dark Lord would not be pleased with your abuse of a Healer." His words were quiet, menacing even.

"She's a mudblood lover, the Dark Lord will have nothing to say," Rodolphus responded, his wand pointed directly at Augustus.

"If you're so confident, why don't you ask him yourself?" Augustus said, nodding his head to the far corner. All eyes turned in that direction. Rabastan could almost feel the panic radiating off them; it smelled like fear.

A soft chuckle emanated from the darkness before a lithe figure emerged, shrouded in a black robe that left only his face visible. Rabastan sometimes wondered if the Dark Lord could have been a handsome man, if time and fate had destined him to another storyline - now his cheekbones were gaunt, his eyes hollow caverns on his face, and his hair slowly disappearing.

"My lord," they all began whispering in succession, each bowing as they spoke. Avery was the last to speak, as he decided to fix his pants and adjust his shirt before addressing the Dark Lord. When he finally spoke, he looked nauseous, particularly as the blood flowed freely from his broken nose.

While Rabastan could tell his brother was uncertain whether Augustus spoke the truth or not, he was the first to speak up regarding their current situation. "We apologize, my lord, for not realizing you were amongst us."

"I can see you were quite busy, distracted," the Dark Lord said, walking closer until he stopped in front of Augustus and Eleanor. "And who might this be?"

"This is Eleanor Fairfax, my lord," Augustus explained. "She was brought to attend to Rosier."

"Indeed."

"My lord, had I known you were in our presence, I would never have imagined to defile your eyes with such -" Avery began explaining, remaining bowed the entire time he spoke. Before he could complete his sentence, the Dark Lord flicked his wand, lifting Avery into the air and slamming him backward against the wall.

"I have so been looking forward to meeting Miss Fairfax. It's been what -" The Dark Lord looked directly at Rabastan, "at least five years since I first requested to meet this lovely creature." Nobody responded, but it was clear he didn't expect one. "And a healer now, how… _wonderful_." Lord Voldemort reached forward and put his hand to Eleanor's cheek, cupping it gently, as one would a child's face.

"My Lord, what would you like done with her?" Rodolphus asked. With one look from Voldemort, Rodolphus quieted and stepped backward into the shadows.

"Avery-" Voldemort said.

"My Lord," he responding still groveling off to the side of the room.

"What do we lack?"

"My Lord?" When Voldemort lifted his wand again, Avery began stumbling over his words in panic. "We-we lack nothing, absolutely nothing -"

"Rookwood, what do we lack?" Voldemort repeated, silencing Avery's stuttering with a spell.

"A healer, my Lord."

"Ever perceptive, Rookwood. Though it seems that is no longer true." Voldemort turned to face Augustus directly, his hand dropping from Eleanor's face. "I believe you know what to do." Augustus was barely given the opportunity to nod before the Dark Lord spun around and swept back across the floor. He didn't make it to the other side before Bellatrix latched onto his left arm, whispering into his ear as he walked. Rabastan wondered if she was trying to beg pardon for her husband, though he had the sneaking suspicion she didn't care enough.

Augustus didn't wait for the Dark Lord to disappear before he began walking in the opposite direction, through a doorway that led to the kitchen. Eleanor was at his side, their arms linked like two children skipping through a field. Rabastan didn't miss a beat before following after them. "Augustus," he said, reached forward to snag his friend's jacket sleeve, forcing him to stop walking.

"What?" He snapped, twisting around to face him.

"Where are you going? No actually, better yet, what the hell was that back there?"

"What do you care?"

"I'm concerned for you."

"For me?" He said through a laugh. "You're concerned for me? I wasn't the one about to suck Avery's dick back there. So you know what? She's my responsibility now. So I think you best get back to your brother before he starts to think you have _feelings_ for her again." Rabastan recoiled at the sarcasm and was stunned silent when Augustus turned and continued out the back door. A moment later, there was the faint pop of disapparation and Rabastan knew they were gone.


	21. a twisted opportunity

_"Oh, there's no time to sleep_  
 _Oh, living in a dream"_

From _American Money_ by Børns

* * *

Eleanor felt groggy and slightly nauseous, like she was suffering from a terrible hangover after a night out with Dorcas. Every muscle in her body ached and every movement felt lethargic, as if her limbs were weighed down with bricks. She was sitting on a cool, smooth surface, and she could tell that a window was open, as a draft swept through the room. To stop herself from being sick, Eleanor kept her eyes closed and tried to calm her pounding heart. Off to the side, she could hear Augustus rummaging through a drawer of some sort before he poured a liquid, presumably into a glass.

"You want one?" He asked.

"No, thank you," Eleanor said, opening her eyes for a split second to see Augustus standing over to the side, holding a glass with brown liquid in it. "I feel like I'm going to be sick." Groaning, she held her stomach and curled into the fetal position.

"It's the spell wearing off, it'll take some time. Here," he said, placing something down in front of her. "In case you get sick." Eleanor didn't need to open her eyes to know it was a bucket of some type. Grabbing it with her hands, she pulled it against her chest and hugged it tightly. Augustus stepped away and continued opening and closing drawers off to the side.

"Can you stop that?" Eleanor asked, the sound intensifying the throbbing in her head.

"What? Oh. Fine, sure." He stopped opening and closing the drawers and she heard him sink into a chair near her.

"Why am I here? Why not just kill me?"

"Kill you? Why would I kill you?"

"Because - because - I know too much. I'm a liability, isn't that what your kind call it?"

"You've been watching too many muggle movies, Eleanor," Augustus laughed before she heard the clinking of ice against glass. "I'm not going to kill you. And you hardly know enough to be considered a liability. A nuisance, maybe, but not a liability."

"Then why bring me here?"

"If you want to leave, leave," he said.

Eleanor didn't trust Augustus, so she expected him to stop her when she moved to get up. What she hadn't counted on was the wave of nausea that swept over her as she crawled into a kneeling position. Grabbing blindly for the bucket she'd pushed aside, she managed to tug it against her chest before heaving into it. She emptied what felt like her entire stomach, the sickness only stopping when she was completely drained, both emotionally and physically. With a groan, she flopped back against the floor and tried not to start crying. "What, you aren't going to laugh at me?" She asked, the biting tone her only defense.

"I'm not going to laugh at you, Eleanor," Augustus said gently as he rose up and walked across the room. At first she thought he was refilling his tumbler, but then he turned and walked in her direction. "Here, drink this." He placed something down beside her on the floor, then paused, perhaps noting her hesitation. "It's water."

"Thank you," she mumbled, not wanting to accept his sudden kindness, but her throat was aching and her mouth dry. Sitting up slowly, afraid that she might instigate another bout of illness, she fumbled around for the glass of water with her eyes closed. She downed half of it in one sip.

"What do you remember about tonight?" He asked, while settling back down into his seat. "And don't bother lying to me."

After finishing off her water and putting the glass back on the floor, Eleanor began opening her eyes. Everything was blurry at first, her sight rebelling against the bright light and unfamiliar territory. Slowly, ever so painfully, her eyes began to focus until she could finally see Augustus casually sprawled across a sofa. One leg was crossed over the other, his arms spread wide behind him, a glass of whisky balanced in his right hand. Glancing around the room, she found it to be exceptionally masculine, all dark wood and deep colors, with a long row of bookshelves to her left. "Is this your home?"

"Yes, well, my townhouse. I suppose my mother would prefer I spent more time at the family estate, but, well…" He trailed off with a shrug before sipping his drink. "Come on, Eleanor. The faster you tell me what you remember the faster we can get this over with."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"I'll answer that question after you answer mine, and no, I won't change my mind. I'm being nice right now, hospitable even, so why don't you do me a favor and quit trying to avoid my question."

"But-"

"No, Eleanor, no. Answer my question." He paused quite suddenly, staring at her with an intensity that sent goosebumps down her back. "If you're worried I'm going to hurt you, I won't."

"How do I know that?"

After releasing an exasperated sigh and rolling his eyes, Augustus put a hand up as though swearing an oath. "On my mother's life, I swear I didn't drag you all the way here to hurt you. In truth, I dragged you all the way here for the exact opposite reason."

Eleanor knew his patience was gone. She also knew there was no possible way the evening would end without her answering his questions. Yet despite buying a few minutes to think, she was still no closer to understanding what he wanted to hear. She held no qualms about lying, but right now, head-spinning, mouth still dry, her body still lethargic, Eleanor was quite certain Augustus would see through it. So she told the truth.

"A bit, here and there. I remember being at work and apparating to the site of an attack." Eleanor didn't try to hide her judgment, though Augustus only smirked in response. "I found Dawlish - John Dawlish - hurt with Frank Longbottom. He was all sliced up, just - torn to pieces. His chest looked like someone took a knife to him. I cleaned the wounds first and then -"

"Eleanor, regardless of how interesting you think healing is, I don't need a play-by-play on how you healed him."

"Right, right. Well, I was healing him when Frank collapsed to the floor beside him. At first I thought he had a concealed injury, but then I realized someone else was there."

"Who?"

"I - I - well I don't really -" Eleanor began, before the panic began to set in. It was like everything after Frank's collapse was fuzzy; there were bits and pieces of memories, but they were covered in a thick fog. "I can't remember, I really can't remember -" She began to say, in-between sharp breaths that quickly turned into hyperventilating.

Just as Eleanor thought she was going to end up unconscious on the floor again, she felt Augustus' hand on her shoulder. "Lean forward, put your head between your knees," he said, while slowly rubbing her back in an almost _gentle_ manner. Eleanor followed his instructions, though her muscles screamed at her as she moved. It worsened at first, her heart racing in rhythm with her breathing. Yet Augustus stayed right beside her, his hand rubbing her back slowly until her breathing began to even out and her pulse no longer raced. "Better?" He eventually asked, while removing his hand from her back and rolling onto his heels. Eleanor nodded. "Good." He stood then and returned to his spot on the sofa as if nothing had happened. "It was Rodolphus."

"What?"

"The man who stunned Frank Longbottom was Rodolphus Lestrange. He put you under the Imperius curse and brought you to Evan Rosier, who was injured and needed the assistance of a healer. You healed him while under the curse, after which a few other unsavory conversations occurred and the curse was broken. That's when I decided to take you here."

Eleanor's mind couldn't keep up with the story he was weaving. It sounded preposterous, yet there was no reason to believe he was lying. "Rodolphus put me under the Imperius curse?" She repeated quietly.

"Yes, he did."

"Did-did-"

"Yes, Rabastan was there. Though to be fair, I'm quite certain he didn't condone his brother's actions."

"Fair? To be _fair?_ What about fairness to me?"

"Glad to see you've got your kick back, I was worried there for a second."

"Don't you laugh at me! You-you make yourself out to be this great person that _saved_ me, but you're one of them! You're just like Rodolphus, even if you weren't the one to put me under the curse, you are _just_ like him."

"If I were you, I'd stop my rant right there," Augustus said quietly, rising yet again to visit the bar at the side of the room. He poured a glass of whisky, downed it, and then poured yet another, before turning to face her. Drink still in his hand, he walked back over and knelt down so they were at eye-level. "Despite what you might believe, I'm trying to help you. I won't deny it, I'm exactly the man you think I am - cruel, ruthless, heartless, even. But instead of placing you back under the Imperius curse and forcing you to do my bidding until whatever day I decide to stop, which is exactly what everyone expects me to do, I'm going to help you."

"Help me?" Eleanor repeated, quite certain there was no possible way Augustus could be of any help.

"Yes, help you."

"You have no reason to help me. We aren't even friends."

"I have my reasons."

"Tell me."

"You're not in a position to be demanding anything. And before you go off on another rant, remember this - you have no other options. It's either this or I send you back to Rodolphus. Do you hear me?" Eleanor nodded. "They _expect_ me to put you under the Imperius Curse."

"No, please, anything but -"

"Stop, let me _finish_." He was no longer pacing and stared at her until she closed her mouth. "Like I said, I'm not going to place you under the Imperius curse. That doesn't, however, change the fact that they are expecting me to. Which leaves us with only one option - you're going to _pretend._ Yes, you heard me right, you're going to _pretend_ to be under the Imperius curse. This will allow you to continue leading your life, going to work, visiting friends, but when I beckon, you'll happily come along and do my bidding."

"Your bidding?"

"We need a healer. We get ourselves into some tough scrapes and it's not like we can stroll into Mungos. Well, I can, but not the others."

"So-so let me see if I get this right. You want me to pretend to be under the Imperius curse so that when one of you gets injured while trying to _kill people_ , I'll be your resident healer?"

"Perhaps without that attitude, but yes, that's a perfect summary of the plan."

"Absolutely not, definitely not. I don't care what you threaten me with, I will not be the on-call healer for the bloody Death Eaters. If you want that, you're going to have to put me under the Imperius curse."

"No can do, I can't have you under the Imperius curse, so you're just going to have to come round to my plan. Now, don't get me wrong, I appreciate the show of courage, it's why I think you're particularly well-suited for this role, however, you have no inkling - no _idea_ what you're asking for. Have you ever experienced the Cruciatus curse?"

"No-no," Eleanor stuttered out.

"Would you like to?"

"No."

"Imagine it, minute after minute, for hours, until your nails are bleeding from scraping the floor, you're soaked in sweat, and you can no longer hold a sane thought in your mind. The screams from the Cruciatus are a particular breed. Enjoyable, really. Not the shrill, high-pitched, everyday shrieking, but a lower, gut-wrenching misery that, well, can't be replicated. I'm not too fond of using the curse myself, but Bellatrix and her husband are quite adept. I'd even go so far as to call it their hobby, but, we don't want to be crass."

"Alright, alright, I understand," Eleanor said, cutting him off. "You swear I won't have to anything but heal?"

"If you're asking whether I will require you to hurt anyone, the answer is no. I can't promise that healing is the only errand I'll send you on, though."

"What else do you want me to do?"

"I'm offering you an opportunity to walk out of here alive and in full control of your functions, yet you keep questioning me. Haven't I proven I'm trustworthy?"

"I'll never trust you."

"Well that's a shame," Augustus said with a shrug. "That doesn't, however, change our current situation. You have a choice to make." Reaching forward, he grabbed her forearm and yanked her into a standing position. Eleanor wobbled slightly, but managed to stay upright. "You have all the facts, at least the facts I'm willing to give. So tell me, do we have an agreement?" Augustus' hand was outstretched, waiting for her to shake it, yet she hesitated. Glancing toward the door, which beckoned with whispers of freedom, she realized there was no scenario where she walked out of this apartment unless she said yes. For self-preservation above all else, she reached forward and shook his hand. "Lovely, do enjoy your evening, Miss Fairfax," he said grinning. After squeezing her hand tightly, a painful reminder of who held the cards in their newly formed relationship, he dropped her hand.

Eleanor didn't wait for him to say anything more before racing toward the door. After fumbling with the handle, she burst into the cool night air with a shout of relief. Part of her was surprised when Augustus didn't follow her and instead the door shut soundly behind her. Turning to her left, she beelined down the sidewalk ignoring the odd looks from a few pedestrians that were perplexed by her frantic behavior. It wasn't until she found an abandoned alley and disapparated to her own apartment that she felt remotely safe, at least for now.


	22. a sidekick

_"You sip what the devil's drinking_  
 _Hot as hell and I'm thinkin'"_

From _Dopamine_ by Børns

* * *

Rabastan couldn't seem to get rid of Eleanor.

At every bloody turn, there she was, standing an arm's length away from Augustus. He supposed it was a good thing, she _was_ there to heal his injured comrades. Even Rodolphus begrudgingly acknowledged her usefulness after she mended a rather large gash in his leg. To date, Rabastan had not been on the receiving end of her ministrations and he hoped to keep it that way. Ex-girlfriends, if he could even call her that, were meant to disappear and never be seen or heard from again. Leave it to Augustus to permanently drag her back into his life.

Yet, there was one saving grace: the Imperius curse.

He found Eleanor's almost robotic movements under the curse reassuring. Gone were any hints of the real Eleanor - no sarcastic quips, no eye-rolls, no little smiles, no bitter remarks, no death glares - she may as well be a stranger. Certainly, Rabastan was still a tad peeved that Rodolphus had selected a Healer he was so well acquainted with to help Evan. He knew it had been intentional, that his brother thought it would torture him. He hoped Rodolphus was sorely disappointed to witness his indifference.

Not that Rabastan was frequently in the company of his brother. As of late, he spent a majority of his time abroad, frequenting establishments that his brethren either refused to enter or were too conspicuous in. While he was not the strongest wizard under the Dark Lord's command, he did offer a selection of talents that included an uncanny ability to blend into the shadows. Poland, Ukraine, Bulgaria, Hungary - he visited them all, lurking in the corners of taverns, eavesdropping on boisterous, egotistical wizards who thought themselves invincible. They never knew he was there, gathering information - not until his wand was pointed at their chest later that night.

He preferred working alone. Others attracted attention. This time around, though, at the Dark Lord's behest, Rabastan found himself sitting across from Barty Crouch Jr in a dark, musty tavern in Austria. The young man was enthusiastic, he'd give him that, but unfortunately his determination to succeed was resulting in a manic tapping of his foot and a slight twitch in his eyes. Rabastan could already count half a dozen men who were wary of Barty and they weren't even finished with their first round of ale.

"You need to calm down," Rabastan said quietly, kicking Barty's leg under the table. "You're going to get us both bloody killed."

"M'fine," Barty mumbled, holding his ale tightly with both hands.

"No, you're going to blow our cover. Just take a deep breath and stop talking. They're not going to appreciate two British blokes sitting here." Barty seemed to at least understand his reasoning, as he simply nodded his head and continued to sip his ale quietly. The foot-tapping continued, but Rabastan figured it'd be more noticeable now if he stopped.

The tavern smelled of molding wood and spilled ale. There was a window at the front, yet Rabastan couldn't see a glimmer of light through it, not with years of grime and dust caked on. He supposed it was going on twilight outside, the sun disappearing behind the mountain. Men were arriving in droves, gathering for their nightly drink at the local tavern.

Once the chaos of the evening began, most of the curious eyes from earlier simply accepted their presence and went back to enjoying their drinks. Rabastan sighed in relief and relaxed in his seat, letting the conversations wash over for him as he listened for little tidbits that would help him identify their man. Barty, however, looked utterly perplexed and discombobulated, though the tapping had stopped. It took Rabastan a moment to realize it was because his sidekick didn't speak German.

In a small recess at the back of his mind, he wondered whether the Dark Lord didn't trust him. Barty was clearly useless on this mission, yet the Dark Lord had _insisted_ he come. If the man didn't speak the language, how was he meant to bring back information?

"Do you know why he asked you to come with me?" Rabastan asked with a knowing smile, as if he were only asking so he could share the secret with Barty.

Barty remained silent as he shrugged his shoulders and downed a long gulp of ale. "I don't question him. Neither should you."

"I wouldn't dare. But let's be frank with each other, you serve no purpose on this mission. You don't even speak the language."

"Perhaps he thought you needed protection."

At that Rabastan laughed, he couldn't stop himself. The idea of Barty protecting him against anything was preposterous. While Barty wasn't incompetent, he was _young_. He'd only graduated from Hogwarts a year ago and in his eagerness to prove his worth, he seemed quite incapable of thinking _before_ acting. Bellatrix adored him, since Barty rarely questioned any of her ideas. They were a dangerous duo, spurring each other on with a sadistic lack of forethought. For that reason alone, he wasn't keen on Barty's company, even more so now, after realizing neither of them knew why he was actually there.

"I don't need protection," Rabastan finally said with a derisive snort.

Again, Barty shrugged, the simple gesture shooting pulses of anger through Rabastan. Clenching his fists together, he lifted his hands, not certain of his intentions yet, but thinking his fist would look quite nice slamming into Barty's face. Just as he leaned forward across the table to grab the collar of Barty's shirt, Rabastan heard the single word with the power to draw his attention elsewhere.

" _Tobias said it would be in the vault tonight,"_ a young man said in German, his voice lethargic and subdued, as if barely interested in the conversation.

" _It better be. He won't be pleased with waiting any longer."_ The man speaking was short, with a dark moustache and tanned skin that reminded Rabastan of worn leather.

" _I said it'd be there tonight."_

The next piece of the conversation was drowned out by a swell of laughter in the back. By the time Rabastan could listen again, the two men were discussing the latest local football match.

"He's our man," Rabastan said, nodding toward the man with the moustache. "Keep an eye on him, we'll follow him when he leaves."

Unfortunately, Rabastan never expected the man to keep drinking long into the night. He figured after a few pints of ale, he'd stumble home merrily, giving them the opportunity to intercept him in some dark alley along the way. The tavern was nearly empty now, which left he and Barty exposed and quite obvious. Their glasses were lukewarm and nearly empty and the bartender was staring at them.

"We have to go," Rabastan said to Barty, downing the rest of his disgusting ale with a wince.

"It's cold out there," Barty muttered sullenly.

"Get up." Rabastan led them outside, where, to be fair, it was rather frigid. Buttoning up his coat and tightening his scarf, Rabastan headed to their left and turned into the first alley they came upon. It smelled of raw fish and cigarette smoke, a disgusting combination that nearly made him gag. "Just keep an eye out, when he leaves we'll have to follow." Since Barty was here, he may as well take advantage of the extra man-power.

"No need to follow," a voice said from the opposite end of the alley. Rabastan spun around, whipping his wand out and pointing it into the darkness. This stranger was British based on his accent, which was unexpected and concerning. While the Austrians might not know who they were, a Brit potentially would. "You pull your wand on me? I'm not the one threatening you - you're the one trying to find me." With a flick of his wand, Rabastan dragged the man toward them, until he could finally see his face.

"I wasn't waiting for _you_ ," Rabastan snarled, noting the lack of moustache and the smooth, young skin on his neck and face.

" _Crucio_ ," Barty said before Rabastan could even acknowledge his presence. The young man fell to the floor with with a scream of pain, his body rolling on the grime-covered cement. Soon the screaming turned to short bursts of sobs, as dirt covered his face and arms, yet Barty continued. Slowly it dawned on Rabastan that he might not end until this man was a twitching heap of _nothing._ Lifting his hand, he shoved it roughly into Barty's shoulder, sending his partner stumbling into the stone wall.

"What the hell was that for?" Barty snapped.

"We need him _alive_."

"I wasn't going to kill him."

"I don't need his brain to be bloody mush either," Rabastan said with a cool, soft voice. Barty scoffed but didn't respond, crossing his arms in clear disagreement. He didn't, however, make a move to use the Cruciatus again. Glancing down, Rabastan watched as the stranger managed to crawl into a kneeling position. Instead of wiping down his face, which was what any sane person would do, the man just smiled up at them both, his teeth a stark white against his dirt-covered skin. "How did you know we were waiting for him?" Rabastan asked, kneeling down so he was at eye-level.

The man spit at him in response.

"Now that was unnecessary," Rabastan said, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. "How did you know we were here?"

"Two bloody Brits sitting in an Austrian pub? You were an idiot to think you could blend in."

"You seem to have blended in perfectly well," Rabastan countered, a subtle nod toward his accent. The man only grinned. Tired of the game, Rabastan lifted his wand and pointed it at the man's chest. The stranger clearly expected the Cruciatus again, which only intensified the look of shock when his throat began to close slowly. Shock was replaced with panic as he tried gasping for air, his hands going around his neck as if that would open up his airway. Only when the man's lips took on a blueish tint did Rabastan finally lift the spell.

While Rabastan waited patiently for him to catch his breath, Barty stood behind him muttering quips about being cold and bored. Ignoring his sidekick, he watched the man slowly turn his gaze from the ground up to his face. They stared at each other for a moment, before the man waved his hand in a beckoning gesture. Leaning forward, Rabastan paused just as their foreheads were about to touch.

" _It was a set-up,_ " the man whispered in German.

"What?" Rabastan responded in English, quite certain he'd misheard or mistranslated. Instead of repeat himself, the man grinned eerily, looking a bit too pleased considering his current situation. " _What did you say?_ " Rabastan added in German, shaking the man's shoulders roughly, trying to jostle some type of answer out of him. Even through the shaking, he just kept grinning, before it finally turned into a manic laugh. Rabastan wasn't given any time to ponder the laughter before he felt a sharp, stabbing pain at the back of his head and the world went dark.

* * *

 **Authors Note** : Thank you everyone who continues to read my story! I know my chapters have been more delayed as of late, but it's all for a good reason! As the storyline progresses, I want to be very conscientious of every decision the characters make, which inevitably means I mull over each chapter a bit longer. So again, thank you, and hopefully you enjoyed!


	23. truth will out

_"I lost you not long ago; heaven knows I'm miserable_  
 _Hell takes all the credit, though, til the day is done-"_

From _The Emotion_ by Børns

* * *

All Eleanor could think about, all she dreamt about - _thought_ about - was sleep.

It was taking all her willpower (and a sincere fear of being caught by her boss) to not nudge a patient over on their bed and take a quick catnap. Eleanor was fairly certain it was a miracle that she hadn't passed out somewhere along the hallway, clutching her charts. Only when the numbers on the nearest clock blurred together and she could barely read her own handwriting did she realize it was about time she finally hightail it out of St. Mungos and make her way home.

Grabbing her bag from the break room, she ignored all her coworkers, who were pestering her to grab a drink later that evening, and bolted straight for the door. With thoughts of her warm, soft bed she practically ran to the disapparation wing. Finding a small nook that was vacant, Eleanor clutched her bag and spun in a circle. When she reappeared at her flat, she immediately glanced down and accounted for all her limbs - splinching after a long shift wasn't unheard of. With two arms and two legs and all other extremities intact, she dumped her bag on the ground and began stripping out of her dirty uniform as she made her way toward the bedroom.

"While I appreciate the show, I think you should keep that on for now."

"Why do you _always_ sneak up on me like that?" Eleanor practically shouted as she straightened her shirt and turned toward Augustus. "You don't have a permanent invitation into my flat."

Grinning, he shrugged and sat down in the nearest chair. "I'm not going to wait outside on your doorstep. It's cold."

"It's _cold_? Bloody hell."

"Do you want people to assume unseemly things about our relationship?" He asked with a teasing grin.

"Do you mean someone will think we're-" she gasped and put a hand over her mouth, "shagging?" Rolling her eyes, she finally sat down on her couch and tried to relax.

"First of all, I wouldn't get comfortable. Second, yes, shagging, as you so kindly put it. I don't need the attention. Besides, you're not my type."

Choosing to ignore his comments, she pushed herself back up off the couch and looked at him sternly. "If you need me to do something, let's go. I haven't slept in nearly three days and I'm about ready to pass out. Who hurt themselves this time?"

Augustus stood and brushed down the front of his jacket. "Rabastan."

"Excuse me?" Eleanor asked without missing a beat.

"Rabastan was attacked while on a mission in Austria."

"How bad is it?

"You'll see for yourself."

"Where is he?"

"What's this, Miss Fairfax? Is this emotion I'm seeing? Do you, perhaps, have _feelings_ for our Mr. Lestrange?" Augustus grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

"If you call apathy an emotion, sure, I have a _single_ emotion for Rabastan."

"Right, right," Augustus said with a chuckle. Grinning, he walked toward her and reached for her elbow. Eleanor ignored his smug expression and waited silently for the sharp pull of disapparation.

They were off-kilter when they arrived and Eleanor stumbled forward, Augustus' grip on her elbow the only thing keeping her from ending sprawled on the floor. Glancing up, she was a bit surprised to find that they were in a home of some kind, not an abandoned building or a dark alley. The walls were a deep burgundy with mahogany paneling along the bottom. A plush, gold carpet was beneath them and portraits hung up and down the hallway, small lights shining down on them like at a museum.

"Where the hell are we?" Eleanor whispered.

"The Lestrange Estate," Augustus said with a grunt as he led her down the hallway by the elbow.

"This is Rabastan's _home?_ " She began, before hearing footsteps approaching them. Straightening her back, dropping her arms down to her side, and placing a vacant expression on her face, Eleanor retreated into the now familiar facade of pretending to be under the Imperius curse. Just as Augustus dropped his hand from her arm, Rodolphus rounded the corner and came face to face with them.

There was nothing about Rodolphus she liked, not even the slight resemblance of his eyes to Rabastan's. He hated her, that much was clear. It radiated off him in putrid, overwhelming waves. What Eleanor couldn't figure out, however, was the relationship between the two Lestrange brothers. In school they seemed inseparable, yet since she began her stint as resident-healer, they barely spoke two words to each other. Yet it seemed the prodigal big-brother cared enough about to be at Rabastan's sick-bed.

Without any greeting, Augustus walked toward Rodolphus and then past him. Eleanor followed obediently behind, staring down at the ground as they stepped into the first room to the left. While she moved directly toward the bed, an oversized four-poster, she risked a glance around the room - a Slytherin banner hung across the wall, books covered the floor, and broomsticks were haphazardly stacked in the corner. With a bit of surprise, she realized this must have been Rabastan's childhood bedroom.

Before Rodolphus could notice her wandering eye, she returned her focus back to the bed, where Rabastan was lying asleep. He looked small, his body cocooned in a mess of blankets. There were patches of blood soaking into the bedding, from both his chest and legs. His face was black and blue, his right eye practically swollen shut and a large gash across his forehead that was still bleeding.

With a flick of her wand, Eleanor removed the blankets and began to carefully shred through Rabastan's shirt until she could remove it without aggravating his wounds. His chest, like his face, was torn apart. They weren't knife wounds, that much was certain; instead, it looked like he'd been dragged along a road, little bits of gravel left festering. Each cut was jagged and the skin was peeled backwards, as if it'd been purposefully tugged away from his body. _What did they do to you_ , Eleanor thought to herself, letting her hand hover over the largest gash right over his heart. Tugging the sheets completely off him, she watched him breath; the gashes were so deep, with each inhale she could see slivers of bone from his rib cage. Further down, she saw his left leg was bent away from his body, though thankfully the skin wasn't punctured.

Rummaging through her sack, Eleanor found a small vial of blood-replenishing potion. Gently tilting his head back, she forced Rabastan to drink it. For a moment, he sputtered, half choking on the liquid, but he eventually managed to swallow the majority of it. Eleanor waited for him to relax before finally turning to his wounds. Her first step was cleaning the gravel and dried blood, before beginning to stitch him back together, one gash at a time.

"Do you think he'll scar?" Rodolphus asked from the far corner of the room.

"Scar? Bloody hell, I don't have a clue. They're deep gashes, probably. I don't think he will give a shit whether he scars," Augustus snapped.

"Alecto will," Rodolphus mused, tapping his fingers on the edge of a table.

"Fuck. Alecto. You should be more concerned with whether your brother survives the night than whether Alecto, or any woman for that matter, will find him attractive."

"He'll be fine. Besides, he was a bloody idiot for getting himself in this situation to begin with."

"Are you telling me you believe Crouch's story?"

"I've got no reason to doubt him. He's loyal."

"And your brother isn't?" Augustus practically shouted. "Do you hear yourself? When words come out of your mouth, do you actually think about them ahead of time?"

"Fuck off." Rodolphus paused after the expletive and sat down in a small wooden chair that was next to the parchment-covered desk. "I _am_ worried about Rabastan after this one."

"What do you mean?"

"He blew his cover and shared sensitive information - if he weren't cut up and bleeding, the Dark Lord would be here and we all know he wouldn't be trying to soothe my brother wounds."

"I don't believe a word of it."

"You're blind then, and he's going to drag you down with him."

"I'd rather be blind than disloyal. Why don't you just leave? We both know you could care less about him."

Rodolphus laughed, though he rose from his seat simultaneously. "I'm not disloyal, at least not where it matters." With a slight smirk, he tipped his head at Augustus and stepped out of the room. The door clicked softly behind him.

"What an arse," Augustus mumbled.

"And then some," Eleanor agreed, glancing over at him, surprised to find him sprawled out so casually. "Do you always look so relaxed at someone's sick bed?"

"As long as it's not a death bed," he said and shrugged.

"Your very cavalier about your friend's current state."

"He's got the best healer in England."

"Don't patronize me. I'm a kidnapped heal- _holy shit_ ," Eleanor nearly screamed, as Rabastan shot upright in bed. Without even hesitating, his arm wrapped around her waist and he used his momentum to push her backward while rolling toward the edge of the bed. When Eleanor stumbled, he pushed off the mattress and fell to the floor, dragging her down with him. Before she could think, Rabastan was on top of her, his hands pinning down her shoulders. He looked at her for a moment, his gaze distant and confused, before his left hand wrapped around her neck and tightened.

Shock slowly mutated into fear when Eleanor tried to breath. In a panic, she lifted her arms and pushed them into Rabastan's face, using her nails to scrape and claw at his cheeks. Augustus was next to them within seconds, trying to hoist Rabastan away. Leverage was in Rabastan's favor, especially as he leaned closer to Eleanor, their chests nearly touching.

"Rabastan," Augustus shouted while kneeling down to his eye-level. " _Rabastan._ You're going to bloody kill her, let _go._ " Augustus wrapped his arms around Rabastan and continued pushing and pulling, but his efforts were futile.

Eleanor felt light-headed, her arms weakening and her lungs burning. Everything felt and looked hazy, as if the world were moving in slow-motion. So when she heard Rabastan respond to Augustus, she was slow to realize that he wasn't speaking English, he was speaking _German_. While she couldn't understand the conversation that ensued between the two men, she could _sense_ it was heated. Rabastan's body was tense, though the conversation distracted him and he loosened his grip on her neck long enough to get in a few solid breaths. Augustus was keeping his distance from them and speaking in a calm, low tone, giving Eleanor the impression that he was trying to talk Rabastan off the ledge. What she didn't understand, though, was how they even got close to the ledge.

Their conversation took what seemed like hours, though it was more likely minutes. Considering Eleanor could only understand a word here or there, it felt quite sudden when Rabastan removed his hands from her neck and began to stand. Augustus reached forward and helped him up, turning him so he would sit back down on the edge of the bed. Augustus then knelt down by Eleanor's head and put a hand to her chin, tipping her head side to side, as if looking for any visible signs of the attack.

"How're you feeling?"

"I'm fine, just trying to catch my breath" she said, though her voice was rough and cracking.

"You'll have some bruising. Maybe you should stop by Mungos on your-"

"I _am_ a healer. I'll be fine. Just help me up." It still hurt to speak and each breath stung slightly. When Augustus grabbed her arm and hoisted her back to a standing position, she wobbled, her head spinning. Using him to maintain her balance, she glanced over at Rabastan, who was still sitting there, staring down at the palms of his hands. "What happened?"

Augustus followed her gaze and shrugged. "I can only imagine it was some kind of episode. He thought he was still on the mission - in Austria. He thought we were there to hurt him, so, he defended himself."

"Defend himself? He tried to decapitate me," Eleanor attempted shout, but it came out a half-raspy cough.

"You're supposed to be under the Imperius curse…." Rabastan's voice was soft, almost timid as he spoke, but he was finally looking up at them. Eleanor turned to face him slowly, eyes wide. Augustus visibly stiffened, but eventually spun to look at him, too.

"Your attack broke the curse," Augustus said, rather convincingly Eleanor thought.

"I don't believe you," Rabastan said, this time with far more confidence in his tone.

"Rabastan-"

"How long has she not been under the curse?"

Augustus hesitated, even glanced at Eleanor, then cleared his throat. "Only Rodolphus put her under the curse. I haven't used it."

"What the bloody hell are you thinking? She's seen the inner-circle, she's heard things that-"

"Look, Rabastan. Unlike your brother, I wasn't going to put someone under the Imperius curse when I could simply _ask_ her to help. Which is exactly what she's been doing since day one, so don't go all high-and-mighty on me and talk about secrets." Turning, he looked at Eleanor and asked, "Have you told anyone what you've seen or heard?"

"Of course not," she responded quickly.

"See, there you have it. Nothing to be worried about."

They never did hear Rabastan's counter argument. The moment he stood, finger pointed at Augustus, he winced, put a hand to his chest, and collapsed.


	24. a charade

_"Rolling through the dark_  
 _Calling to the light of day_  
 _Both eyes are open now and I'm running_  
 _I won't turn around for you"_

From _The Emotion_ by Børns

* * *

It was night when Rabastan woke. Every inch of his body felt numb, save for a painful tingling at the tips of his fingers. When he went to turn his head to the left, the shooting pain down his spine left him practically whimpering. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just spot a sliver of black sky through the window curtains. Everything in the room was dark, except for a soft glowing light at the foot of the bed. Despite how many years he'd spent falling asleep in this four-poster, it took a moment for him to fully realize he was lying in his childhood bedroom.

He didn't remember how he ended up in his bedroom. Truth be told, he didn't remember how he got back to England. His last memory was of leaving the pub, the bitter taste of lukewarm ale on his tongue, Barty pestering him about the cold. Everything after felt foggy, as if he could see shadows moving behind a curtain, but couldn't make out what was happening. He concentrated on trying to remember, but only ended up with a throbbing head and bright white flecks in his eyes. Rabastan tried to ignore the unsettling feeling in his stomach as he closed his eyes and willed himself back to sleep.

Just as he was finally drifting off, he heard the soft click of the door opening and then closing, followed by footsteps that paused at the foot of his bed. There wasn't another noise for a few minutes, during which Rabastan was gently lulled back to sleep before being suddenly woken by a soft cough.

"Hey - wake up." Rabastan's eyes shot open - it was Augustus. While he tried to sit up, he abandoned the attempt when he felt a small stabbing sensation on his stomach. Lifting his hand, he placed it over his ribcage and winced when he felt thick, warm blood soaking into the sheets. "Hey, Eleanor wake up," Augustus said. Rabastan went silent at her name, even going so far as to close his eyes again, feigning sleep.

"What do you want?" Eleanor mumbled, clearly half-asleep and groggy.

"I think you should head home."

"I'm _tired_."

"Yes, I know. But I'm trying to make sure Rodolphus doesn't wake up to find you still here _not_ under the Imperius curse."

"Rabastan will tell him anyways, what difference does it make? I'm blood screwed. Thanks to _you_."

"You're not screwed and you have no idea if Rabastan will even remember the conversation."

"And if he does?"

"I'll figure something out. I'm not leaving you out here to dry, I'm trying to help. But hanging around tempting fate isn't making it any easier for me," Augustus said while leaning back against the bed, which creaked under his weight.

"I don't trust you, Augustus. And we both know that Rabastan _hates_ me."

"He doesn't hate you."

"Right, right," Eleanor said dismissively. They were silent for a moment, clearly quite convinced that he was asleep or perhaps unconscious still. Finally she spoke again, after heaving a rather large sigh. "Look fine, I'll leave, but you're going to have to take me home. I think I'll end up splinching."

"Fine, done." Augustus stood, the bed readjusting to the loss of his weight. The mattress shook as it settled, the gentle reverberations enough to send a shooting pain down Rabastan's back. He groaned, completely incapable of holding it in.

"Is he awake?" Eleanor asked with a sharp intake of breath.

"No, but he's _bleeding_ ," Augustus responded while stepping around to the side of the bed and ripping the sheets of Rabastan.

"Damnit, he opened a stitch," Eleanor mumbled and before Rabastan could gathering his thoughts, she was at his side, her hands examining the wound on his stomach.

"Magical stitches can open?" Augustus asked.

"Bloody hell, now is not the time to ask for a how-to on healing, alright?" Eleanor paused her examination, however, at the sound of footsteps outside the door. When the handle began to turn, Eleanor snapped her fingers while Augustus raced over to the entryway. Curious, Rabastan started opening his eyes slowly, but stopped when the bright light of the bedroom shot a searing pain through his head. With another groan he closed his eyes tightly and simply listened.

"You don't want to come in here," Augustus said quickly to whoever was at the door.

"Why is that?" Rodolphus responded dryly.

"He's been sick everywhere, it's revolting." There was a pause and a shuffling of feet. "You should send in the bloody house elf, but you don't want to be here for this. Or smell it." Another shuffling noise and Rabastan heard the click of the door as it closed. For a moment, he waited, expecting Augustus to return to his bedside, but he never appeared. Only Eleanor was there, her hands still examining his wound, applying some type of salve on it. Rabatan didn't try to reopen his eyes, too concerned it would result in the same nauseating sensation as earlier.

"What did you get yourself into, Rabastan?" Eleanor whispered. When she didn't say anything else, he assumed she was waiting on a response. He even went so far as to open his mouth, but then she continued, "Bloody hell this wound just won't close." There was a sound of her rummaging through a bag, glass bottles clinking together, before she returned to his side. "This might work." Whatever substance she placed on his wound stung and it took all his willpower not to wince. Eleanor clearly thought he was unconscious, that or she was apparently pretending they were still on speaking terms.

Rabastan felt Eleanor continue to study his wound for at least another minute, before he felt the cool tip of her wand pressed against his skin. He could hear her whispering a spell under her breath, but he couldn't make out precisely what it was. Finally she lifted her wand and stepped away from the bed. Rabastan assumed he would finally be left in peace, however, a moment later, he heard a scraping sound against the floor, which stopped right beside him. Daring to open a single eye, he looked to his left and watched as Eleanor situated herself in the large armchair that normally sat in the corner. Lying there silently, Rabastan kept his eyes shut and breathing even as he continued to pretend to be unconscious. Perhaps if she saw he was down for the count, he'd finally be left in peace.

His act was nearly destroyed when Eleanor reached out and grabbed his hand.

Fighting his instinct to sit bolt upright, he held his breath instead, trying not to make any sudden movements. After a pause, she ran her thumb over the top of his hand, grazing his knuckles, which felt swollen and aching. Eleanor then turned his hand palm-side up and pressed her own palm directly on top of his. Her hand was small and gentle, though her skin was cold. She kept their hands pressed together in silence, before entwining their fingers.

"You stupid, idiotic man," she whispered. "You could have bloody _died_ \- and then what?" There was a long pause, during which he felt the mattress tilt in her direction as she leaned against it. "I shouldn't even care what happens to you. You went looking for trouble and it found you - I shouldn't be surprised. It was just a matter of time before I was healing you." Eleanor dropped his hand then, the rush of cold air against his palm unwelcome and uncomfortable. Rabastan remained silent though, unwilling to break the charade now.

There was another scraping noise and then the mattress dipped again as Eleanor sat on the edge of the bed. Instead of reaching for his hand this time, she leaned forward and placed both of her palms against his cheeks. One thumb brushed under his right eye, which was tender and bruised, while the other thumb ran along his bottom lip, which was cut and swollen. The mattress groaned when Eleanor leaned forward, hovering inches above his chest. Ever so gently, she pressed a single kiss to his lips. The contact was brief and so quick, Rabastan was left wondering if he dreamt it. Before he could even pretend to wake up, Eleanor's warm body was gone. He opened his eyes just in time to see her spin and disapparate.


	25. accusations & lies

"Call it a curse from the full moon  
Flowing in my bloodstream  
I can feel it like a monsoon  
Hovering above me"

From _Fool_ by Børns

* * *

"What the ruddy hell were you thinking - _fuck_." Eleanor flung her bag onto the couch before stomping off toward the kitchen. A half-emptied bottle of red wine sat on her counter and she didn't bother to grab a glass before pulling out the stopper and taking a long swig. "Bloody fucking _hell_." Leaning against the counter, she took another swig and rested her head back on the cabinet. The kitchen flight flickered and she frowned, continuing to sip the wine.

"Most people use a glass -"

Eleanor spun, nearly dropping the entire bottle, as she turned to look at Dorcas, who stood in the doorway like she owned the flat.

"Yes, well. I couldn't find one," Eleanor said with a shrug she hoped look nonchalant.

"Even I know where the wine glasses are." Dorcas began crossing the room as she spoke, opening the second cabinet from the left, which housed an inordinate amount of wine glasses. Eleanor gave a sheepish smile and took another swig from the bottle. Dorcas appeared to buy the act though, as she gestured for the bottle, grabbed it, and then took a long sip herself. "So why are we drinking wine tonight?"

"I don't need an excuse to have a glass of wine."

"Technically you're not having a glass, but alright, fine, let me rephrase. How was your day?"

"Long, exhausting, the usual."

"Interesting you say that, since you didn't come into Mungos today."

Eleanor racked her brain quickly, trying to remember if she was meant to be on shift that day, but everything was blurred together. How many days had passed since Augustus first dragged her to the Lestrange Estate? How many days had she spent at Rabastan's bedside? Taking the wine back from Dorcas, she took another sip and shrugged. "I wasn't supposed to be there. They had me pull a 72 hour shift, so I ended up with a few days off in a row. Why? Did you stop by?" Perking up, she looked at her friend with sudden concern. "Did you get hurt?"

"No, I wasn't hurt." Dorcas paused and lifted an eyebrow. "I was going to drag your sorry ass out to get a drink, but it seemed you beat me to the punch." She gestured at the wine.

"Yes, well, I was going to have a glass and head to bed."

"Were you?" Dorcas half-mumbled, turning toward the cabinet and picking up two glasses. She brought them over to the table and sat down with a thud. "Pour us some glasses, let's chat."

"Why don't we grab another drink tomorrow? I can get you after my shift."

"Tomorrow is so far away, besides, the bottle of wine is already open." Eleanor glanced at the door longingly, thinking about her soft, warm bed and how much she needed a good night's sleep. "Sit down. We need to talk," Dorcas said, her solemn tone enough to convince Eleanor to appease her.

"Alright," she agreed warily. Bottle of wine in hand, Eleanor sat down across the table and poured them both two glasses. Dorcas lifted her's with a slight nod of her head, before downing half. Eleanor nodded in response, but sipped her's slowly.

"So what did you do with your days off?"

"Slept, mainly. Errands. Nothing worth writing home about, why?"

Dorcas didn't immediately respond, instead she leaned back, looked up at the ceiling and took another long sip. Finally she dropped her gaze back down, looking at Eleanor with a slight frown. "I think this might be the first time you've ever lied to me."

Eleanor could only swallow.

"And while I want to be hurt and angry and bloody pissed off at you, all I am is worried. Do you know what you've gotten yourself into? Do you have any _clue_ \- any _bloody clue_ \- how fucked you are?"

"What are you talking about?" Eleanor managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Right, it only makes sense you'd play dumb. How about I spell it out for you, hm? When the hell did you become involved with the Death Eaters?"

"Wh-what?" At Dorcas' pursed lips and wild eyes, Eleanor straightened up in her seat. "I'm not a Death Eater, I swear. I'm not."

"Then why the hell were you at the Lestrange Estate, hm? All of them and then _you_."

"I was there for an entirely different reason. I don't even know who else was there, I never saw anyone except -" Eleanor trailed off.

"Except who?"

"Rabastan. I was there because Rabastan needed a healer. Augustus asked me to come over and help, and I did. Call me a sucker, call me whatever you'd like, but I couldn't say no."

"And why didn't he just get his arse to Mungos?"

"Because he wouldn't have been able to explain how he got hurt," she trailed off and then added with a sigh, "at least not without incriminating himself."

"If you don't think that means you're involved, you're a bloody idiot. What, you think because you're not the one dressed in dark robes terrorizing England you're innocent?"

"Hold up, just wait a second - aren't you the one calling the kettle black. You're friends with them, too. The only way you saw me at the Lestrange Estate is if you were there yourself. Narcissa is one of your best mates, you're constantly at the Malfoy Manor. So don't come over here and yell at me for healing our friend when you're probably going to tea with the _Death Eaters_ tomorrow."

"Don't call Rabastan Lestrange my friend, don't you dare call any of them my friends." Dorcas spoke with a clenched jaw, fist turning white around the wine glass. "I'm saying this to you as _your_ friend, your best friend: you need to stop helping them. I'm the least of your worries. If anyone from the Ministry, from Mungos, figures out where you've been pulling night-shifts, you're going to end up in Azkaban right alongside them."

Eleanor stood suddenly, the chair toppling backward, clattering against the floor. For a second she just looked left, then right, then back again, before finally looking at her so-called friend. "Do you think I don't know? Do you think I just raised my hand one day and waved 'pick me, pick me'? I'm not an idiot and you, of all people, should know that."

"Then what happened?"

" _Augustus_ happened. Rodolphus happened. This war happened. It was either help them willingly or be put under the Imperius curse. And you know what, I wasn't so keen on that, so I made the decision to just help them."

"Who threatened you with the Imperius curse? Was it Rookwood? That bloody arse, I'll wring his neck."

"No, no, it wasn't. Look, do you get it now? Do you see that I'm not really involved with the Death Eaters?"

Dorcas sighed and a painful expression flickered across her face. "Eleanor, you _are_ involved." She then lowered her voice and half-whispered her next comment, "You should have just let them die."

"What did you just say? Did you just tell me to let them _die_?"

Perking up, Dorcas nodded firmly. "As a matter of fact, I did. Do you know how much faster this war would be over if you just left them to rot in the gutters? I kept wondering how they were miraculously healed after every skirmish, but this-this right here explains it."

"I can't believe you're saying this. These people-they're our friends… _were_ our friends. How can you just not care if they die?"

"Are you blind? Are you so caught up in your own life that you can't see what they're doing? They're destroying our world. Gutting it. Killing off muggles and muggle-born as if they're nothing more than a bug on the wall. But maybe you agree with them? Do you think you're better because you're pureblood?"

"Of course not. I'm just healing people. That's what I've been taught to do, what I always do. I _heal_ people."

"This is about so much more than just healing people. You're so bloody naive, Eleanor. _Wake up._ One of these days, you're going to have to pick a side. We all will. There isn't any room to just be standing there in the middle saying 'don't pick me.'"

"And you picked the other side," Eleanor said, feeling her heart plummet to the floor.

"Yes, I picked the other one. I joined the Order of the Phoenix about 6 months ago."

"The-the- you're an _Order_ member?" She'd heard whispers of the group, mainly spoken alongside curse words by Rodolphus or Augustus, but she never imagined Dorcas would join. Dorcas was one of them, a Slytherin, a pureblood. "What about Narcissa?"

"I love Narcissa. I think she's a moron for marrying that oaf, but this isn't about her. You can still love your friends and think they're doing something wrong."

"I mean, she can't possibly know. Does anybody know?"

"No and it needs to stay that way." At that, Dorcas glanced toward the window, as if confirming it was still closed. "I feed the Order information. Narcissa… well, she tells me things. And when I'm over for tea, sometimes Lucius forgets I'm there. And there walls are so thin…"

Eleanor couldn't think of a response, not a single thought crossed her mind. Dorcas was _spying_ on their friends. She opened her mouth and then closed it, then opened it again. "You're spying on them."

"Yes, I am." Dorcas didn't expand on that, she simply sat there staring at the wine bottle. The silence lingered and Eleanor let it. There was nothing really to say beyond that single statement. "Now you need to think about which side you really choose" Dorcas finally said while standing.

"Aren't you going to threaten me so I don't say anything?"

"Eleanor, you're healing your ex-boyfriend. You care too much. You _feel_ too much. You aren't going to tattle on me." Dorcas half-laughed, then shook her head. "You need to figure out who your real friends are and then stand up for yourself." With a sigh she reached over and grabbed Eleanor's hand, squeezing gently. "Goodnight." Letting go, she quickly spun and disapparated, leaving Eleanor standing alone in her kitchen.

"Damn," she whispered before grabbing the wine and heading toward her bedroom.

* * *

 **Authors Note:** Well, it's been awhile. I am beyond excited to continue this story after a bout of writers block and other life-happenings that kept me it. Thanks to everyone who takes the time to read this today, it means a lot.


	26. everything

**Authors Note:** Forewarning, there is graphic depiction of violence in this chapter. Nothing beyond previous chapters, but please read with caution if this may upset you.

* * *

 _"But I see the lightning in your hands_  
 _You're the man with the plan, oh, yeah"_

From _Faded Heart_ by Børns

* * *

The burn on his arm started right after dinner - not that anyone would call a glass of scotch and a piece of toast _dinner._ He tried to ignore it, even unrolling his sleeve to hide the slowly-forming mark on his forearm. His willpower only went so far, though, and when the burn became excruciating, he reluctantly grabbed his black cloak and disapparated, arriving in the familiar foyer of an abandoned mansion a few miles east of Cambridge.

To his right was the former ballroom, the chandeliers lit with magic, casting an eerie glow over the sheet-covered windows and rotting wooden furniture. Off to the corner, he could see a mass of black cloaks huddled together, their voices too soft for him to hear. Turning their direction, he took only one step before feeling a hand clamp down roughly on his shoulder.

"Mate, you have a second?" Augustus asked, while glancing side to side, his breathing ragged, as if he'd been running.

Rabastan sighed and gestured in the opposite direction, "Lead the way." Augustus used the hand on his shoulder to direct him, practically shoving him down the hallway into a small study in the back corner. "Is this the butler's room?"

"Never mind which room this is, look, we've been summoned for a reason." Augustus paused, fumbling with the clasp of his cloak looking almost _nervous_. That alone set Rabastan on edge; he couldn't recall the last time he saw his friend so flustered. "You aren't going to like it."

"Just spit it out then - _merlin_ , we don't have all night."

"I found the snitch - the traitor - the one that set you up in Austria." Augustus spoke so fast, Rabastan could hardly decipher when one word ended and the next began. Down the hallway, he could hear the others gathering in the ballroom, their voices growing louder as they started forming their customary circle. "He's bringing the traitor tonight, but-"

"Oi, Rabastan," Rodolphus said, slamming his hand into the doorframe to get their attention. "What the hell are you doing in here?" He looked suspicious, then again, Rabastan thought his brother always looked suspicious nowadays.

"Talking, what does it look like?" Augustus responded with a healthy amount of snark.

Rodolphus didn't respond, instead he simply nodded his head toward the door. "Get a move on." Rabastan felt Augustus bristling beside him, so he took the lead and stepped past his brother and down the hallway. Augustus followed, but Rabastan could distinctly hear him mumble the word, "arse," as he stepped out. Stifling a chuckle, all thoughts of Augustus' frantic words gone, he entered the ballroom and took his spot in the circle. Rodolphus was the last to join, everyone going silent upon his arrival.

They stood like that for minutes, not even a cloak rustling, until the footsteps started, a faint echo in the distance, moving closer. Eventually a dark figure rounded the corner and stepped into the room. Out of pure reflex, Rabastan straightened his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back as the Dark Lord stepped into the circle and spun around, taking his silent roll-call.

"I have quite the entertainment for you tonight," Voldemort began, his voice low and husky, accompanied by an uncharacteristic smirk. "Augustus, came to me the other night with an intriguing theory." Rabastan looked toward his friend with a sudden tightness in his chest, their frantic conversation suddenly front of mind. "How do the Aurors keep knowing our location, he asked. How does Dumbledore's band of mudbloods constantly foresee our next move? Why are our contacts in the Ministry slowly disappearing? There is only one explanation, he said - a _traitor_." A few murmurs echoed through audience, which only seemed to incite a nearly manic excitement in the Dark Lord.

"A traitor, my lord?" Lucius inquired while glancing around the circle, as if weighing his current loyalties. "Certainly nobody would dare to-"

"Don't pander to me, Lucius, I haven't the time nor the interest. Though I do believe you'll find the identity of our traitor quite surprising."

"Indeed, my lord?" Lucius questioned before Voldemort flicked his wand toward the doorway behind them. A moment later, there was a high-pitched shriek, followed by a scraping sound against the hardwood floors. Rabastan turned his head toward the noise, expecting to see a single body. When he saw _three_ bodies, he looked at Augustus. His friend was also staring at them - a mass of hair and flailing limbs - looking equally perplexed.

The three bodies were dragged until they reached the center of the circle, where the Dark Lord let them collapse in a heap. The first to sit up was blonde and petite; it didn't take Rabastan long to realize it was Narcissa Malfoy. In fact, it seemed to take Lucius quite a bit longer to realize his wife was present. To her right sat two dark-haired women and Rabastan didn't even need to see her face to know one was Eleanor.

"Are you surprised, Lucius?" Voldemort asked with a subtle grin.

"My lord, I swear to you my wife would never dare betray you. We are loyal to _you_. We- _we_ are your most loyal followers." When Lucius' face contorted with actual _fear_ , even Rabastan felt a pang of sympathy for the sadistic bastard.

The Dark Lord stepped toward Narcissa, who continued cowering against the floor, her golden hair matted, shielding her face. Bending down, he put a hand beneath her chin and redirected her gaze up toward him. "Sweet Narcissa, have you anything to tell me?"

"No-no-no, my lord," she stuttered, her teeth chattering in rhythm with her shaking hands. "I would ne-never do anything to warrant your reproach, I swear. I serve only you."

"Yes, yes. Spare me your begging and groveling." Turning toward Lucius he narrowed his eyes, "You should choose your friends more wisely, Malfoy, and keep a closer watch on your _wife._ "

"Of course, my lord, of course," Lucius quickly agreed.

"And here we have the lovely Eleanor Fairfax." Bending down again, he lifted her face up and Rabastan's heart clenched. "You aren't one of us, are you? A healer brought to us under the Imperius curse, or so I was meant to believe."

"My lord-" Augustus began, receiving a scathing look in return for his interruption.

"Did you truly think I was unaware? That her displays of obedience were enough to convince me she was under the Imperius curse?" With a manic laugh Voldemort straightened and stepped toward Augustus. With a raised wand, he whispered, " _Imperio_." Augustus stiffened, his gaze softening until his eyes looked like marbles. The Dark Lord stepped away and Augustus began walking toward the women. He paused and reached down, grabbing Narcissa by the elbow and pulling her to a standing position. She yelped and struggled, until Augustus swung her forward and practically threw her into Lucius' arms. He then turned back and lifted his wand, pointing it at Eleanor. Rabastan took a step forward before thinking, then faltered when Augustus redirected his wand to the other brunette.

" _Crucio_."

Her shrieking was overwhelming as her nails dug into the hardwood floors, leaving small scratches with each swipe. Her hair was everywhere, knotted and tangled atop her head, while her screaming grew louder, more desperate. It was only when Eleanor tried to reach toward her, fighting her flailing arms and convulsing body to try and _hug_ her, that Rabastan finally understood, finally realized - it was Dorcas. Before the realization could register, the curse was over, leaving Dorcas panting on the floor and Augustus blinking down at her in confusion.

"Never take me for a fool again, Rookwood," Voldemort breathed, the sheer menace behind the words sending Augustus stumbling backward into the circle, all the while nodding his head in agreement. "Though this does leave us with the question of what to do you with you, Eleanor Fairfax." Turning back toward the women, he closed the distance and flicked his wand in their direction. Eleanor's feet began to slide on the hardwood floor, as if she were slipping on water, while her body slowly rose to a standing position. "What shall we do with you?" Voldemort said in a whisper, reaching forward and holding her jaw. "I'm certain a few in our ranks have ideas." His eyes flicked toward Avery, then slid over to Rabastan, who straightened uncomfortably and stepped back into the circle.

Looking back toward Eleanor, the Dark Lord held her chin and leaned forward, until his nose was mere inches from her face. Eleanor's eyes locked with Voldemort's and her face began softening, until there was no expression, no movement, not even a twitch. _Legilimency,_ Rabastan realized. He was sorting through her memories, _their_ memories, every thought and feeling. It would take nothing for him to simply wipe her mind entirely.

Rabastan's muscles tightened as he waited for a flicker of humanity to return to her face, anything to indicate she was safe. With each second, his willpower faltered, until his legs were shaking with the effort not to step forward and _curse_ the Dark Lord, when suddenly a hand reached out, gripping his shoulder tightly - Rodolphus. He glanced briefly to his right, but his brother wasn't watching him. His eyes were still on Eleanor and for a moment, Rabastan considered attacking _him._ This was, after all, his fault. Without his brother's involvement, Eleanor would be safely at home, tucked away from the Death Eaters, completely unconcerned with any of this. Just when he was quite certain he _would_ attack his brother, Rodolphus turned to look at him, then nodded his head toward Eleanor. Rabastan's attention snapped back to the Dark Lord as he stepped away from her, grinning slightly.

"Well, well, quite some curious thoughts in your head, Miss Fairfax."

"I-" She began, but when Voldemort turned to face her again, she went silent, fumbling with the edge of her shirt.

"Such a pretty thing, it would be a shame to kill you."

"My lord," Rabastan heard himself say before he realized he'd started speaking. Rodolphus squeezed his shoulder sharply before Rabastan swatted his hand away and stepped toward the center of the circle. "We continue to have need of a healer, it may be prudent to allow her to continue serving you." He bowed slightly, hoping the show of respect may be enough to sway him. "She's kept our secrets safe and I believe she can be trusted more than another healer, even one under the Imperius curse. Spells can be broken and if the healer isn't discrete, it may cause more difficulty for you, my lord."

For a fleeting moment, Voldemort looked _amused_. "How far would you go, Rabastan? How much would you gamble for this _woman_?"

Rabastan swore his lungs were no longer working. He felt hot, the robes itchy and uncomfortable, as he lifted a hand and tried to loosen his collar. Rodolphus took a step forward, grabbing his arm to try and tug him back, but he shook him off. " _Everything_ ," he finally said, his words nothing more than a breath.

Voldemort nodded, though his face hardened. "This weakness will kill you, Lestrange. I hope for your sake that your words are never tested." Looking back at Eleanor, he grabbed her by the arm and tugged her forward. "She is _your_ responsibility now. Any misstep, the punishment will be yours, do you understand?"

"Yes, yes my lord," Rabastan said quickly, ignoring the hissing of his brother behind him.

"Do not mistake this as a kindness," he said quietly, though Rabastan was uncertain to whom he was speaking. "Be careful, Miss Fairfax, or you'll soon be joining your friend." He then shoved her toward Rabastan, who caught her with a grunt. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he half-dragged her to the edge of the circle, holding her body firmly against his, as the Dark Lord turned to look down at the only remaining woman on the floor.

"Which leaves you - Dorcas Meadowes," Voldemort breathed as he lifted her from the ground with a flick of his wand. She floated forward, stopping just before him, her toes barely touching the ground as he held her up with a spell. Reaching out, he ran a solitary finger down her cheek, leaving a dull red mark in his wake. "A brilliant performance, fooling even the most loyal of my followers." His eyes darted toward Lucius and Narcissa, "Always on the outskirts, yet close enough to look in, and all the while passing information to the _Order of the Phoenix."_ Eleanor began shaking in Rabastan's arms as the Dark Lord raised his wand. " _Crucio_."

Dorcas' screams echoed through the room, somehow louder than the last time, her body dropping to the floor in a heap of contorting limbs. Voldemort arched his wand over his head and stepped backward, away from her kicking, all the while grinning, like a cat playing with a mouse. He continued the curse for seconds, _minutes_ , until Dorcas could no longer scream, merely grunt. When the Dark Lord lowered his wand, she collapsed against the floor, gasping for air, her panting leaving a small fog on the hardwood with each breath.

"A traitor," the Dark Lord continued, "in our midsts for years. Attending your parties, feasting at your tables, listening to your conversations - she fooled you all." Voldemort laughed then, a harsh, cackling, grating laugh. "This weak, foolish, worthless woman _sold_ our secrets to them and you _let_ her." Another flick of his wand and Dorcas was floating before him again, her head falling limply against her chest. Voldemort grabbed her chin and lifted it, his eyes nearly mainc as he searched her face.

"Filthy mudblood," he seethed, nails digging into her face until blood began dripping down her neck. Dorcas screamed and the Dark Lord let go, her body dropping to the floor again. Brandishing his wand once more, he flicked it once and immediately her screaming intensified, as Rabastan watched her skin slowly peel back from her cheeks. Eleanor was screaming too, he realized, trying to push his hands away and lunge toward Dorcas. Rabastan lifted her, swinging her around to try and block her view, but her scrambling intensified, forcing him to look over at Rodolphus with pleading eyes. His brother looked none too pleased, but lifted his wand, binding her arms and legs. Groaning under the sudden increase in weight, Rabastan dropped to his knees, still holding her body in front of his.

Looking up, Rabastan saw blood pooling on the hardwood floor, mixed what seemed to be Dorcas' vomit, which was also covering her clothes. Half the skin on her face was missing and the bones in her arms were dislocated, leaving them hanging limply beside her. " _Crucio,"_ the Dark Lord said again, his voice more like a prayer than a curse. Dorcas' back straightened, her neck twisted at an odd angle as her mouth opened, as if to scream, but no sound came out.

Through the convulsions, Rabastan could just make out the tears sliding down her cheeks, mixing with her own sick. Daring a glance at Augustus, he found his friend staring at the Dark Lord, unblinking, pale and quiet. Even Bellatrix was silent, though her smile betrayed her pride and awe. Eleanor too was quiet, having given up her attempts to break out of the bonds. Instead she lay there, sobbing silently. Rabastan reached forward and gathered her into his arms again, her back pressed against his chest as he held her tightly.

When the Dark Lord lifted the Cruciatus Curse, Rabastan knew it was the end. Dorcas was barely alive - her eyes were closed and her body twitching uncontrollably. "I'm sorry," he whispered to Eleanor and her sobbing grew louder, the sound like a punch to his stomach. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he kept repeating, his own voice growing softer with each word. The flash of green light from Voldemort's wand was jarring, casting a sickly glow over the room as Dorcas's chest lifted one last time, then released a final breath.

"Rookwood," the Dark Lord said with a flick of his hand toward the body, "clean that up." With a flourish of robes he turned, walking to the edge of the circle, exiting between Lucius and Bellatrix.

At the sound of his disapparation, the commotion began - Bellatrix cackling with glee, Lucius admonishing his wife, Rodolphus congratulating Augustus, Narcissa sobbing into her hands, Alecto laughing with her brother - yet all Rabastan could hear was the soft voice that spoke only to him.

"Can we leave?" Eleanor asked. Rabastan nodded, lifting her into his arms as he stood. Glancing up, he found his brother watching him from across the room, his eyes dark and narrowed. Gone was any hint of affection, of the brother who used to defend him, support him, _love him_. He'd chosen Eleanor and his brother would never forgive him for that.

* * *

 **Authors Note:** Thank you all for faithfully (and patiently!) waiting for me to complete this chapter. I believe there were 4 different versions until this final one. It's a critical turning point for Rabastan and Eleanor, so I wanted to ensure it was just perfect. I appreciate your continued support and hope to be updating with more frequency in the coming weeks.


	27. swimming through the silence

**Authors note** : Please remember this story is rated "M" before continuing with this chapter. I'm not listing specific warnings as they will give away too much, however, I do want to remind you that this is for mature audiences.

* * *

"Past lives couldn't ever come between us  
Some time the dreamers finally wake up  
Don't wake me I'm not dreaming"

From _Past Lives_ by Børns

* * *

Rabastan's body was warm as he held her tightly against his chest. Eleanor's head was throbbing, a deep pounding, intensified by the echoing din of the ballroom. She couldn't make anything out, every sound blended together until she nearly cried. Twisting, she buried one ear against Rabastan's robes, while using a hand to cover the other - it barely helped - making Eleanor wonder if perhaps the noise was in her head alone.

Above her, she could just distinguish Rabastan's voice, accompanied by the soft vibrating of his chest every time he spoke. Eleanor couldn't even care enough to look over and see who he was conversing with - it wouldn't be what she wanted to see. When Rabastan's arms tightened, she dared a glance up at him. Gone were the soft, round cheeks of youth, replaced instead with cut cheekbones and an angled jaw reminiscent of his father. Even then, though, she still saw _her_ Rabastan - youthful energy bottled up in an older man's body.

Now, his expression was filled with ire and something bordering on resentment. When he glanced down at her, though, she could actually see his attempt to soften his face, but it only went so far as his eyes, every other muscle was strained, his lips a thin harsh line matching his drawn eyebrows.

"We're leaving," he said, though not to her. "I suggest you don't follow us." Rabastan stepped backward and without warning, began to spin, the lurching sensation of apparition taking over. When the spinning ended, Eleanor thought she would be sick, even going so far as to start dry-retching in his arms.

"Hey, hey," he began, dropping to his knees with her while unbinding the rope from her wrists and ankles. "It's over - you're fine - I've got you." Bending over her knees, she felt his hand on her back, rubbing in a small circle, as she began gasping for air between sobs. Eleanor didn't know how long they sat there on the floor, though her knees were throbbing when she finally stood. Rabastan followed suit, his hands hovering below her elbows as if expecting her to collapse.

"Water -" she said, looking at him through aching, puffy eyes.

"Let's get you seated first," he said gently, redirecting her toward a brown leather couch backed up against a wall. With an arm on her lower back, he guided her down onto the seat, before turning and heading through a doorway to the left. He returned a moment later with a glass of water, which he handed to her, and another filled to to the brim with a brown liquid. While she downed her water in three large gulps, he sat beside her, sipping on his own. Once her glass was empty, she looked up, then gestured for his, which he handed over with a skeptical look. The brown liquor - scotch - burned as it went down, like fire against her scratched throat.

"Eleanor," Rabastan said quietly before reaching out and taking back his alcohol.

Shaking her head, she stared down at her now empty hands and frowned. Everything felt wrong. Her body felt constrictive, heavy, like the world was tightening around her. Her skin felt itchy, like the energy brimming just below was bubbling and rippling, until she began to scratch her forearms almost manically. "I just keep seeing her standing in my flat, holding that glass of wine. All she'd wanted to do was talk and I kept pushing her out because I was _tired._ "

"Eleanor-"

"She was my friend and I just did nothing."

"There wasn't anything you could have _done."_

"That's a bullshit excuse and you know it." Looking up at him, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and shook her head.

"What could you have possibly done?"

"Bloody told her to _stop_."

Rabastan went still. Slowly, almost methodically, he leaned forward and placed his glass down on the table before turning back to her, enunciating each word carefully, "You knew? You knew she was a traitor and you said _nothing_?"

" _You_ , of all people, will not say that to me."

"If you knew and you said nothing -"

"You are, you're trying to toss this back in my face. If I knew and said nothing _what_? Finish that statement, Rabastan."

"Do you know what she did? Do you know what she _fucking_ did?"

"I don't care what she bloody did - she didn't deserve to _die._ "

"Don't be so naive, Eleanor." He practically spat her name, before rising up and walking over to the bar by the sidewall. He poured another full glass of scotch and took a long sip.

"Fuck off, Rabastan. Don't you even dare - don't you even dare try to say she deserved it."

"That's not what I'm-"

"No, no. That is _precisely_ what you're saying."

"Stop putting words in my mouth."

"Bloody hell, bloody hell, _bloody hell-"_ The emotions were choking her, like an invisible hand clenched around her neck squeezing out her breath until her body was shaking. With an aggravated shout, she stood, shaking out her arms frantically before walking over to the bar to grab the entire bottle of scotch. Rabastan made a movement to take the bottle back, but she stepped away before he could. Pulling off the top, she took a long sip, then another, before turning back to face him.

"She _betrayed_ us," he said.

Eleanor laughed as she took another swig. "And then you killed her for it. Right there, in the middle of that fucking circle. Do you know I have nightmares about that circle? One minute I'm standing there, and then the black robes, those idiotic black robes, they start melting and this black ooze is sliding across the floor toward me. But they're not actually melting, I realize, it's actually blood and I can smell it as it gets closer-"

"Why don't you give me back that bottle?" Rabastan interrupted while making a grab for it, only to miss when Eleanor spun out of his reach.

"This is all your fault." When he went to grab the bottle again, she screamed at him, half in anguish, half in anger. "This is _your fault_."

"You don't mean that-"

Looking up at him, at his earnest confusion, she sighed and felt the anger slowly seep out of her, leaving only the painful thrum of heartbreak in its wake. "I do, I really do." Reaching forward, she placed the bottle of scotch down on the end table and turned to face him. "All I want to do is hate you. I want to hate you for leaving me behind. I want to hate you for not stopping _any_ of them, for letting them use me over and over and over again."

"Eleanor-" Rabastan began, but when she paused to let him continue, he just stood there, mouth open, saying nothing.

"What? _What?_ Say something!"

"I'm sorry, Ellie."

"You're _sorry_? Is that all you can say to me? At least make it sound sincere, Rabastan."

"It is sincere…"

"None of this would have happened if I hadn't been the naive little girl that fell for someone like you. I wouldn't have been held bloody hostage, I wouldn't have been forced to _heal_ people I hate, dozens of innocent people might still be alive, and Dorcas would be sitting in _that_ kitchen finishing off my wine."

"I never meant to hurt you."

"Of course you never meant it, but did you do anything to stop it?"

"What was I supposed to do?"

"Say something! You stood there while they did this to me! While they _murdered_ her, you _bloody stood there_." Eleanor's hand were shaking and every time she blinked, little white dots blotted out her vision until all she could see were those damn black robes he wore. "Why didn't you say something, why didn't you _stop_ them? Why did you do nothing? You bloody _coward_. You asshole _._ "

Her sadness was mutating, twisting like a knife in her stomach, until each breath ached and her body was trembling. Both hands were clenched at her side, fingernails digging into her palms, leaving small, painful marks. "You bloody _asshole,"_ she murmured before lifting her right hand and swinging it into his face. Eleanor didn't aim, only hoping to hit something painful or fragile. When it slammed into the side of his nose and she heard the faint crunch of bone, she stifled a manic grin.

"What the _fuck_ ," Rabastan hissed, lifting his hands up and covering his nose, though the blood was seeping through his fingers and dripping onto his robes, soaking into the black, coarse material. "Are you out of your bloody mind?"

"No, just pissed off." This time she kicked him, hard, right in the shins, causing him to groan and topple backward into the bar. Half the bottles fell over, shattering on the floor, leaving small pieces of glass and liquor in their wake. "Take off that bloody robe. Take it _off_." She was screaming, grabbing at the fabric and trying to tear it away from his body. Rabastan looked down at her as if she were possessed, eyes wide and complexion pale. He didn't fight her, he even tried to help, but there was too much fabric, too many hands involved, and the robes felt _glued_ to him until Eleanor stepped back with frustrated cry. "I hate these bloody robes. I hate them."

When Eleanor lifted her arms again, Rabastan reacted before she could use them as a weapon, lunging forward and grabbing her wrists and pinning them to her side. He was breathing heavily, panting against her face which was only inches away, his eyes wild as he looked down at her. Blood still dripped from his nose, which was swollen and slightly crooked, while sweat soaked his disheveled hair. For a minute, it was all Eleanor could do to keep breathing, their air between them warm and crackling, before she rose onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his.

It wasn't a kiss, not at first. Eleanor couldn't gain leverage with her arms pinned against her side and was relying solely on him to keep her upright as she leaned backward. His lips tasted metallic, blood and tears mingling between them. She stayed there what felt like _minutes_ , her lips simply pressed against his, _waiting_ , until finally his head tilted to the right and his lips parted ever so slightly. When her tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, he released her wrists, allowing Eleanor to slip her hand behinds his head, twining them into his hair.

With her newfound leverage, Eleanor arched up against him and he soon leaned forward, arms wrapping around her lower back to pull her body flush against his. Trusting him to hold her up, she began frantically removing his robes again, tugging roughly at the fabric until it finally pooled at his feet. Releasing a small sigh, the tension in her shoulders loosened as she slipped her hands underneath his button-up shirt, skimming them over the soft skin of his lower abdomen. When Rabastan's breath hitched, she dragged her fingers back again, just to hear the low guttural sound in the back of his throat. He practically growled this time, his arms tightening around her before pushing her back against the wall.

Grabbing the waistband of his pants, Eleanor pulled him closer, grinding her hips into his, pleased to feel him hardening beneath her. Their kisses were becoming erratic, heady, sloppy even, until they finally tore their lips apart in favor of trying to remove their clothing. Despite the words they _should_ say and _needed_ to say, Eleanor was quite content to remain silent, relinquishing herself to whatever this was

Somewhere between removing her shirt and Rabastan kicking off his pants, he placed his hands beneath her arse and lifted her up. Eleanor wrapped her legs around his waist on pure instinct, savoring the warmth of his bare chest against her own. His shoulders were broad, muscular, far different than the gangly teenager she used to know. There were scars scattered over his chest and back, including the few she'd stitched up what seemed like eons ago. The rest were older, fading away with time, though the skin was still raised when she ran her fingers over them. Rabastan shivered in response before nestling his head against her neck and biting gently at her pulse point. Holding her body tightly against his chest, he pulled away from the wall and walked through the doorway to their left.

His bedroom was cold and empty. A single four-poster bed sat in the center and piles of books were strewn across the floor. There was a closet toward the back, dark suits lined up neatly, a stark juxtaposition to the disarray of his book collection. Almost half of the walls were lined with paned windows, though sheer curtains were drawn across them, casting an eerie glow on the room. Rabastan didn't stop until he was putting her down gently on the bed and even then, he immediately crawled on top of her, his legs straddling her waist while his hands brushed back her hair. He didn't kiss her immediately, instead he looked down at her with a tenderness that disarmed Eleanor. With it came a rush of emotions tangled together - their history, the Death Eaters, _Dorcas_ , the future. Taking in a jolting breath, she reached up and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back down into a kiss before reality could destroy the moment.

Rabastan was hesitant at first, but when she dug her fingers into his back, kissing him with more fervor, he seemed to understand. Lowering his body down so that his chest was mere centimeters from hers, he moved a hand below her to unhook her bra. While they fumbled trying to take it off, it was eventually tossed across the room. Lowering his mouth to her breasts, Eleanor groaned and arched up, silently begging for _more_. There were words she could say, they were hanging on the tip of her tongue, but talking would only bring back reality again, so she stayed quiet and instead simply tried to forget, if only for a moment.

They were a mess of limbs and lips, grabbing and pulling each other, as if they were trying to actually fuse their bodies together. Everything was familiar, from the smell of his shampoo to the soft calluses where he held his wand. Within minutes they were both naked, Rabastan's hand between her legs, pulsing against her in a way that curled her toes and left her panting. He pulled away too soon for her liking as he hoisted his body up on his elbows and used his knee to push her legs apart. When he positioned himself, he looked down at her, and though he was silent, she easily read the words on his face - _tell me you want this._ This was her chance to tell him no, to push away and try to piece together what was left of her miserable life. She knew what he was - a killer, a Death Eater - yet she still saw that glint of youth in his eyes, the way his lips pulled up in a nervous smile, and how his hair fell in front of his eyes. This was _Rabastan_.

Eleanor didn't answer with words, she simply lifted her knees and parted her legs further. He practically growled as he pushed into her slowly, teasing them both with his restraint. It didn't last long though, soon they were grabbing, pulling, clawing, _writhing_ together. Both of them were sweating, their bodies sliding in a fast, consistent rhythm. While they tried to kiss, breathing became too difficult and Rabastan buried his face into the crook of her neck where she could feel his hot breath panting against her skin.

The end came too soon.

Pitching over the edge of the metaphorical cliff, Eleanor was quite certain she screamed, pulling roughly at his hair in a way he seemed to like, as he soon joined her with a series of low grunts. He kept moving for a few moments after and she relished the feeling of his body weight resting down on her, like a warm blanket. When Rabastan pulled out, she moaned her discontent and he smiled at her, a warm loving smile that sent goosebumps down her arms. He nuzzled her cheek softly, then kissed her temple, before rolling off of her. He didn't let go, though, he pulled her with him, his arms locked securely around her. Eleanor tried to speak, even went so far as to open her mouth, but there was nothing to say. So instead she rolled toward him and entwined her legs with his, listening to the soft beating of his heart. Tomorrow they would talk, tomorrow they would solve this all.

* * *

 **Authors Note** : Thank you to everyone for reading this chapter. I apologize profusely for my delay in getting this out to you. I promise that there is no chance I will ever abandon this story, it will have an ending. This chapter was particularly pivotal, as I'm sure you can tell, so I re-wrote it a dozen times to make sure it hit the right notes. I hope the wait was worth it. My goal is to have the next chapter out shortly into the New Year. Until then, I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season!


	28. faded heart

_"I'm falling at the sight of you_  
 _You tripped me, it's alright_  
 _Is it just me or is it you_  
 _Is it love or am I fooling around trying to find the truth"_

From _Supernatural_ by Børns

* * *

Rabastan woke up quite suddenly and quite alone.

For a moment, he simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling, arms folded over his chest, before feeling across the mattress to where he expected to find Eleanor still sleeping.

The sheets were cold.

If he were honest with himself, it wasn't surprising.

Blinking heavily, he leaned up on this elbows and looked around. Except for a few articles of clothing tossed around the room - a shirt hanging from the dresser, his pants on the corner of the bed - he could have convinced himself it was all a dream. But he could still see an imprint in the sheets from where she'd slept and the room smelled of vanilla, just like _her_.

With a sigh, he leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes, only to be jolted awake by a large crash from the living room. When the first clatter was following quickly by a second, he sat upright and swung his legs off the side of the bed. Grabbing his pants, he tugged them on and nearly crashed into the wall as he hopped through the doorway.

"Eleanor?" At first he saw nothing and nobody, it was only when he walked around the couch that he saw half his bookshelf strewn across the floor and a half-crazed Eleanor clearly tearing pillows off the couch. "Bloody hell, what are you doing?"

"I can't find my shoes."

"Your shoes?"

"Yes, my shoes. I'm late for work."

"Work?"

"Are you going to just stand there and repeat everything I say with a question mark at the end of it?"

"Maybe," Rabastan said with a subtle smirk that disappeared when she shot a glare his direction.

With a sigh, he walked around his coffee table and began picking up the books that were scattered over the floor. Placing them back on the shelf, he knelt down and peered underneath a few pieces of furniture, before spotting a black shoe underneath the couch. "One's over there." He said, nodding his head in that direction.

Eleanor hurried over and picked it up, mumbling all the while. "One shoe at St. Mungos - that will be great. I can imagine my boss' face right now."

Standing back up, Rabastan watched her search a potted plant in the corner before he finally interrupted. "Were you planning to slip out of here while I was still asleep?" He almost didn't need to ask the question, it seemed quite obvious, but a small part of him hoped that maybe, _maybe_ , she would have said goodbye.

"Yes." No emotion to her voice, no apology, no poor attempt at an excuse - just a simple yes. He felt his heart clench and he took a deep breath to combat the pulsing.

"Didn't really work out, did it?" There was a heavy dose of snark in his voice and his lip curled upward in a half-snarl, half-smirk.

"Really, that's what you have to say to me right now?" Eleanor stopped searching and instead leaned back against the armchair, slipping on her one shoe. Cheeks flushed, lips pursed, hair a mess of curls - even through his disappointment and tinge of anger, he couldn't help but think _she's finally here._ There would be hours, days even, of analyzing and over-analyzing the night before, but for now, for perhaps the first time in months, there was a small part of him that felt _hopeful._

"We need to talk, Eleanor."

"I disagree. I need to go to work"

Patience, he reminded himself, as he leaned against the armrest of the couch. She watched him for a moment before continuing to tear apart his living room. It was only once she found the second shoe, tucked behind a blanket on the couch, that she stopped to look at him.

"When does your shift end? We can talk then."

"I don't know, Rabastan." She tugged on her shoe and sighed.

"I can't accept that answer."

"What do you want me to say?"

"That you're not going to walk out of here and never speak with me again."

"You can't force me to stay." He heard it, in the back of her throat, the quiet fear.

"I'm not going to force you to do anything, I'm _asking_. Please, Eleanor, don't leave like this."

"How precisely would you like me to leave?"

"I'd like you to leave after I make you breakfast and a cup of tea."

"Eggs and tea won't fix what needs to be fixed."

"Are you saying it can be fixed?"

Eleanor ignored him, instead reaching for her cloak and tossing it over her shoulders. When she began to hook the clasp, he pushed off the armchair and stepped toward her. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he squeezed gently and leaned forward, so they were eye to eye.

"I meant what I said last night," she said softly.

Rabastan recoiled, though he kept his hand on her shoulder. "That you hate me?"

"No - yes - no," she hesitated and his stomach tightened. "I can't look at you without seeing _her_." He dropped his hand from her shoulder. "You're one of _them_. I can't just forget that. I can't just _forgive_ that."

All he could think about was the manic look in her eyes when she'd ripped off his cloak the night before.

"What would you have me do?" He asked softly, quite certain he didn't want to know the answer.

"Let me go to work."

Rabastan stepped away, his hand dropping back down to his side. "What about after work?

"You're a _Death Eater_. My best friend is _gone_. And I could be next."

"Are you a spy?" His question was sarcastic - he went out of his way to limit any information she might overhear. She didn't know enough for the Aurors to take interest, even if she went directly to them. Dorcas, on the other hand, she _pretended_ to be one of them. Weaved herself into the very fiber of their community until they'd forgotten she was in the room.

"What if I am? Would you murder me?"

"I didn't murder Dorcas!" With a half groan, he dragged his hands through is hair and sat down on the couch. "I hate what happened to Dorcas, but look who she fooled with. Just _look_. She knew what would happen, she had to."

"I don't believe that," Eleanor said, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I miss her and it hasn't even been twenty-four hours."

"Of course you miss her. We all will."

"No, not everyone. Not like me." She was fumbling with the clasps of her cloak and staring down at the floor, digging her toe into the carpet. "I need to go," she said abruptly while dropping the hem of her cloak. While she opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, she said nothing, simply staring at him, her expression blank. Rabastan studied her - the curve of her nose, the flush of her cheeks, the color of her eyes. He was convinced this might be his last chance to cement the memory for an eternity.

"Don't leave," he finally said, breaking the silence in desperation. Eleanor jumped when he spoke, her eyes blinking wildly, before she lifted a foot, turned, and disappeared with a small pop.

"Fuck, fuck fuck," Rabastan breathed, getting back up from the couch and kicking the coffee table with a groan. He was pissed, at himself, but mostly at Dorcas. She had done this to them. She had made the decision that left her best friend sobbing in his arms. He knew he played a role in this fiasco; he wasn't blameless. But this was an opportunity to mend his wrongs, to turn back the clock and start over with a clean slate. He _would_ win Eleanor back.

Walking toward the kitchen, set on having his eggs and tea, he heard a rustling behind him. A moment later, a letter swept through the fireplace and landed on the writing table. He knew the sender without evening opening the envelope, just from the cursive letters on the front. _Augustus_. He considered ignoring it in favor of breakfast. He even took a step toward the kitchen, but the envelope beckoned and he turned back and grabbed it. Sliding his finger under the wax seal, he flipped open the parchment and glanced down.

It didn't make sense. He expected a note about Dorcas. Or the how the Malfoy's were back to proclaiming their undying devotion by throwing a soiree. Instead, he was left quite perplexed by the cryptic script:

 _Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast._

* * *

 **Authors Note:** It's been quite some time and for that I apologize! I've been struggling over the past few months (and then some) to find my inspiration and carry on this story. Suffice to say, it will be finished - I know precisely how it ends already. Bear with me as I work through the next few chapters though. I will try to post consistently, but I can't guarantee it. Thank you to everyone who kept reading this story even while I was away. The reviews and love certainly inspired me to come back to this story sooner rather than later. I appreciate you all!


End file.
